


Erik the Ass Destroyer

by Airie



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Comedy, Exploration, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Road Trips, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airie/pseuds/Airie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to "Erik the Pussy Slayer". After defeating Alduin the Dragonborn leaves Erik to do some adventuring on his own. He soon gets into trouble, but thankfully Aza returns and the two set out on another glorious adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“B-but you said you…!” The Redguard girl clutched her satchel. Her cheeks were burning with shame, her gut felt as if she had a huge block of ice inside.

“Oh, honey…” The rogue sighed almost embarrassed. 

What foolish creatures young women were! All he had to do was butter her up for a few weeks and she practically begged she ‘escapes’ with him, carrying off with her mother’s life savings. What the lass didn’t expect was his band of merry cutthroats, waiting for her (and her money) in the snowy woods east of Solitude. The look on her face was priceless.

“You used me!” She cried. Anger and betrayal mixed in a ragged whimper. Her shockingly blue eyes were burning. 

“No, I haven’t… yet. But don’t worry, by the end of the night you will truly understand what being ‘used’ really feels like.” The deceitful Nord grinned, getting off from the stone he was occupying. The Dunmer and Imperial that accompanied him surrounded the girl. Only her left was opened, leading straight into the dark woods.

She had to think fast. She bolted, throwing the satchel behind, hoping to slow them down. Curses followed, they weren’t giving up that easily.

She pushed self-loathe aside. She wanted something better, adventure and romance. Instead, she got… No! This wasn’t final, she could escape. Mother is going to be furious with her… Later, she’ll worry about it later.

As with all Redguards, her feet were swift, but she couldn’t outrun an elf. After a few moments, a gray arm was slung over her waist. The Dunmer threw her against a tree trunk, snow fell from the pine branches. She screamed, but who would hear her in this time of night, so far away from the city?

“Do it again, my little dove.” The elf laughed amused and aroused. He brutally shoved his knee between her legs, getting a good grip on her throat.

“I hope a giant cohorts with you…!” She managed to gasp out. A feisty one!

“Watch your tongue, honey” he ran his dagger up her skirt, the plain dark-green wool was cut like paper. “Now, you won’t bite, right? There are three of us, you got three holes… Did your ma teach you math?”

“What’s taking you so long?!” The Nord ringleader’s impatient voice could be heard from afar, back in their camp. “I swear, if you want her ass all for yourself, you…” the sentence ended in a gruesome yell.

“What in Oblivion?” The elf grunted. It seemed they weren’t alone. “Did someone follow you, you little cunt?” He hissed, almost choking her. The girl shook her head, desperately fighting for air. Her legs felt numb, her eyes rolled back.

He took a step back and forced her to bend forward. His knee plunged into her stomach, the girl fell to the ground with a grunt.

“Mother…!” She groaned, curling into a ball. Her bladder gave in.

“Stay here, bitch. Move, and I’ll cut your tits off!” The elven bandit threatened, heading back to the camp.

Halfway through, he stumbled upon a tree stump. No, wait. It was… a head. Shit, it was the boss! He called out for the Imperial.

“Get over here you fool!” Was the response. “Son of a bitch took the boss out!”

 _“I know, idiot!”_ The Dunmer thought, reaching for his bow. The head was cut off clean, which could only mean one thing; an axe. 

It was actually a good thing. Axemen were lethal, but slow. With an arrow readied, he snuck back to the campsite, mindful of any twigs or more gore.

The ebony axe carried by the Nord assailant was impressive, the price he could fetch for it… And since the boss was gone… The Imperial wasn’t holding on either. Yes, a good aim, one clean shot and he could spend this night with the little bitch (after cleaning her up) and sell the axe for a handsome price the next day.

“Hurry up!” The Imperial called for him, dodging another swing. Damn, that bastard knew how to use that thing and keep his balance.

But the evasion left the Imperial off guard. The Nord got behind him with surprising swiftness and caught his neck behind his weapon’s handle. He pulled sharply, breaking the Imperial’s neck. The Dunmer risked and released the arrow the exact same moment his comrade died.

The vigilante used the dead bandit as a meat-shield, the dart hit just below the collarbone. A cold, steady gleam was in the Nord’s eyes as he proceeded to approach the elf, still hidden behind the Imperial, whose mace and shield somehow staid in his grasp.

“That’s it! That’s it! Come at me, little hero!” The Dark Elf dared, switching back to his dagger. This was meant to be up close and personal. 

The axeman didn’t get provoked. The elf could see his eyes set on him, his brows crossed, but his face focused and cool. He grunted, swishing the blade in the air to show he meant business.

The body of his fallen comrade was flung towards him, he dashed away, for a second losing his opponent between the tree trunks. He hid behind one of the trees, somewhere in the distance he could hear the tricked girl whimper.

He heard movement. He jumped from behind the tree ready to cut his eyes out. But instead of the Nord, he found a bay horse standing in the middle of the woods. 

Cold steel pressed against his throat. There was no taunting, no last words. The Nord pulled the length of Skyforge steel against his throat. The elf’s face hit the snow, a black puddle bloomed under his severed artery.

The girl could breathe again. She got up on her feet, but tripped and crawled away like a wounded critter when she heard footsteps. She looked over her shoulder. She didn’t know who that man was, but in the light of Nirn’s twin moons she could see his red hair, clear blue eyes and a scar on his left cheek. Gods, what did he want with her??

“Can you walk?” Erik asked, there was no trace of emotion in his voice. He just wanted a straight answer.

He took the slurs that spouted from her mouth as confirmation. He threw the girl’s satchel between her feet.

“Solitude is that way.” He said, pointing at the city’s direction.

The lass quickly took off, clutching the satchel and crying. He ignored her, he was experienced enough to know they seldom acted grateful. It was good she didn’t pass out or puke herself, he was too tired to play rescuer.

He got back to the bandit corpses, looted what there was of value and then got back to their camp. His mare was waiting patiently near the warm bonfire. He patted her on the side.

“Good girl.” He said warmly. “Now let’s see if they have anything good to eat.”

The Gods smiled upon him, as the bandits had a stew brewing. And from the smell he determined it was pork, not skeever.

“I got more luck than brains” he said with a bitter laugh.

There was enough to feed two or more people. But he was alone. It was about four months since that bitch Aza left him on his own in Markarth.


	2. Grizzled Warrioress

Frostflow Lighthouse. A place one normal, average family sought to call home. Only to be slaughtered by the revolting Falmer that so happened to have their nest below. It was an unnecessary tragedy one could not predict nor prevent.

The Falmer and their insect pets were history. Although the Dragonborn promised to refrain from using the Thu’um, the anger she felt when she found the body of a middle-aged Redguard woman and her two teenage children rendered the oath obsolete. Breathing fire on those blind, pale abominations was satisfying as Oblivion itself. 

When she found the remains of the father, she couldn’t help but do something symbolic; she put the remains in the beacon on top of the lighthouse. It was an unnecessary gesture, but she felt it was the right thing to do. She paid the rest of the bodies the same amount of respect, burying them outside the lighthouse, on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. One good firebreath made the ground soft and warm enough to dig up proper graves. 

She wasn’t religious, but those people deserved better. She saw many bodies of innocent victims in her travels, and mostly ignored them. But this time she couldn’t look away and loot their house excusing herself with the old ‘they won’t be needing their stuff anymore’ card. It was a possible sign she was growing old and soft.

It was far too late to travel, and she was exhausted from the fighting and digging. She made herself cozy in the main chamber of the lighthouse, near the fireplace. Her mare was outside, in the back shed. She ate their still fresh produce, minding not to make much mess. She then laid on furs and blankets she gathered close to the warm, steady fire.

She was a light sleeper, a trait she was proud of. But recently she found falling asleep more and more difficult. At first she thought it was because she hadn’t a warm body next to her. But that wasn’t the case. She had some lewd fun with a number of men and women, but it appeared she needed one very specific body.

She fell asleep after a bottle of good Hammerfell rum. Getting drunk wasn’t a good idea. When she heard noises late in the night she couldn’t react fast enough. Like a rookie she was surprised and beaten over the head, then gagged and tied up.

\---

“But, um… We’re going to let her go, right?” The newbie asked, nervously rubbing his palms. 

“Sure thing! And next we’ll donate to the temple!” The Breton said mockingly, getting a better grip on the Redguard slut’s fine ass.

Aza did what she always did in extreme situations; thought fast. Ignore the pain, push aside your dignity and don’t let fear overcome you. Think, you dumb bitch, your life is on the line!

There were three of them, as usual when her luck turned bad. The ringleader was an Orc woman, unusually the Breton was the muscle, and they had some Nord whelp tagging along. The boss went outside to check the shed. With terror came the realizations that Orcs found horsemeat a delicacy. No, not her horsie!

“Okay, but…” the milk-drinker kept nagging. “We’re not going to kill her, right?”

Even the Redguard grunted in annoyance. Was that kid brain-damaged?

“Oh sure, and a woman with toys like those” his chin pointed at two glass swords and a set of steel armor on the table, “and a face like this” he pulled her by the shoulders, so that she faced the newbie, “will just forget and move on?”

The pup swallowed loudly. The woman’s right eye was completely white and her body covered in scars. The Breton was doing her from behind, her hands were tied on her back. Her huge rack bounced with his hard, disharmonious thrusts.

“Uh… no. She’s… pretty pissed off. She’ll come after us.” He admitted, avoiding her glare.

“Atta boy!” The Breton laughed, roughly pulling out. His cock was completely dry, but it didn’t bother him. He stuck his thumbs into her asshole and spread roughly, trying to fit his cap in. The gag and rag pulled over her mouth muffled a pained howl. “No hard feelings, right honey? We’ll do it quick, you’ll barely feel a thing. Well, not now, I can tell you’ve never had it this hard, huh?”

She growled. His size was decent, but she had bigger and more talented. She suddenly noticed a bent rusty nail sticking from the floor a few inches from her face. This was her chance. She struggled, managing to pull herself closer to it and away from the Breton and his filthy cock. 

“Whoa, there! What a jibber mare I got myself!” He exclaimed, grabbing her by the hips. “Say, rookie, after I’m done you can have some fun with this one! Tight like a teen!”

The new guy was speechless. The second he was about to say something, the Redguard managed to get the nail under the rag and sharply pull her head back. The material tore and loosened, falling off her face. A stream of blood followed, as she cut her cheek as well. She spat the gag out and took a deep breath. 

“FEIM!”

In a second she was gone. Instead, there was a cloud of damp mist. The Breton plunderer’s hands grasped thin air. The cloud immediately flew towards the table. The Shout was composed of just one Word, so Aza reappeared seconds later. Her hands grasped the familiar shapes of her swords, her teeth were gnashed in a mad grin.

The Breton’s pants were pulled down all the way to his knees, his chestpiece far away, he didn’t want it to get in his way. Before he could get up and reach for his mace, the crazed woman’s blade was plunged deep into his back, just above the shoulderblades.

The whelp jumped from his seat, reaching for his short iron dagger. He had no idea how to use it, though. She disarmed him with no difficulty. Instead of killing him, she kicked him in the crotch and punched in the face, splitting his lip and knocking out.

She shrugged, feeling her cunt and ass torn, this was going to be sore for a few days. But she wasn’t done yet. There was no time to get dressed. Neighing she heard from outside made her pick up the pace.

\---

The Orc woman smiled widely. The horse was well-kept and looked particularly tasty. She left that High Rock bastard and the Nord pup to have some fun with the Hammerfell slut they found. They should dispose of her after they’re done. Her stuff was worthy quite a penny, this was a good haul. 

She covered herself with her thick dark-green cape, pulling the matching hood deeper over her head. An impressive greatsword was on her back. The horse motioned away, but it had nowhere to hide.

There was a knock on the door.

“What?” The Orc asked annoyed.

“I killed them.” Aza said, though it wasn’t entirely true. “Come out, I want this over with.”

“Useless idiots!” The ringleader growled, heading out. 

The Redguard was looking just like when she left her with the boys; what was left of a fatigued nightshirt was dangling on her in shreds, her hair was loose and tangled, her feet were bare. The swords the Orc was hoping to sale were in her grasp.

“Nice cape.” She said. They both knew what she meant; ‘It’s going to be my trophy, bitch!’

“Thanks. I’m actually grateful. They were useless fools, the new guy tagged along just recently. Wants to be badass, but he’s a pussy.” 

They started the dance, encircling the field before the lighthouse. The Orc unhurriedly reached for her gruesome sword. 

“Men.” The Redguard sighed.

“I was hoping to use them to carry the spoils. But I guess now I’m going to ride your horse for a bit instead of eating it.”

“Her. She’s my girl. And you stay away from her.” Aza hissed. Damn her gear, but she grew attached to her paint mare!

“Oh? And what are you going to do, slut? Smother me with those tits of yours?”

Unexpectedly, the Redguard lowered her blades.

“You know what? Screw this, I’m not in the mood to play.” She said tiredly. She inhaled slowly.

“What ere y…?” The Orc’s survival instinct was tingling.

“FUS RO DAH!” 

The bandit was set flying at the lighthouse wall. Before she could pick herself up, Aza jumped on her. Her blades sunk into the side of her chest, piercing both lungs and heart. She quickly turned over the still warm body and took the cape and hood as trophy. There were no other valuables on the Orc – her armor was completely useless, the sword too troublesome to carry.

She quickly checked up on her mare. Her mount’s ears were flat on her shapely head, her hoof dug in the frozen ground.

“You be good, I’ll be back soon.” The adventurer said, closing the door. She had one more thing to do. She grinned vindictively, heading back inside. 

\---

Kjeld opened his eyes with difficulty. He was laying on his belly, his mouth was bleeding, he might have chipped a tooth. His crotch was swollen with numbing pain. When his vision focused, he noticed the Breton’s body laying face-down just a few feet from him. The blood had time to cool and dry.

“You’re up. Good.” He heard a voice.

It was her, the Redguard! He tried to scuttle away, but he felt the tip of her blade on his shoulder.

“As you were, whelp.” She said calmly. She looked far scarier in a set of steel armor with pauldrons, cuffed boots and gauntlets. The Orc leader’s cape and hood were on her shoulders, he needn’t ask how she got them. 

“My father owns a mine and an inn!” He said quickly. She didn’t kill him, mayhap he could buy his life?

“That’s nice.” She replied with a slight smile. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Kjeld. Kjeld the Younger.” He answered quickly, eying the glass tip dancing inches from his face.

That name sounded familiar. Where did she hear it?

“Younger? So, I assume Kjeld is your daddy, eh? And where are you from?”

“Kynesgrove.”

Kynesgrove! Right, she was there with Delphine to investigate an old dragon burial site. Alduin beat them to it and resurrected a dragon they had to fight. Damn, it felt as if it happened in a completely different life. But in fact, it was over a year ago.

“Nice little hamlet, Kynesgrove. Why’d you leave such a cozy place?” She kept questioning, as if they were having a tea party.

“Because it was dull!” The whelp suddenly snapped, his red hair covered his face. His slightly freckled cheeks got red. “My father wanted me to oversee the mine or work at his inn, he practically owns the village. But I wanted neither of it! I wanted to get out of there and do something more exciting!”

Her hand slightly shook. Oh the irony. Another small-village boy, who wanted to get away from his daddy and see the world. Though, this one hung out with the wrong crowd and was now paying for it. This is how Erik could end up without her help. She felt a twitch in her chest. She kept telling herself she did the right thing leaving him in Markarth. She was worrying sick ever since, but it was the right decision. Even if it left her feeling empty inside. And she could bet her good eye Erik was furious the morning she was gone.

She kneeled before Kjeld, gazing into his insipid eyes. They hadn’t the same spark that caught her attention back in Rorikstead. None of that potential, just waiting for a chance. This one was useless, but he wasn’t her responsibility.

“It’s your lucky night.” She said with a wide grin. Her teeth were shockingly white. “You met the wrong people, shit happens. You’re just a dumb whelp, so I’ll let you go… But if I ever catch you screwing around again, I’ll gut you. Understood?”

He nodded eagerly, blood from his smashed lips drizzled on the floor.

“Good. Get up and strip.” Her eyes glimmered, as always when she was up to no good.

“What?”

“Strip. Your parents apparently never punished you for stupidity, allow me to do it myself.”

“I’m almost eighteen! I’m not a child!” He protested, standing up. The woman kicked him in the kneecap. He cried out a curse, struggling to maintain balance.

“To your bare ass.” She said indifferently.

Sobbing, he got out of his plain fur armor and underwear. She also made him take his shoes off. He wasn’t feeble, but it was obvious he hadn’t worked a day in his life. Too soft around the edges. 

“Turn around” she instructed, pricking his chest with the sword. “Hands behind your back.”

He obeyed, whimpering. His pride was suffering more than his body. No one had ever mistreated him like this! She quickly tied his hands with the same rope they used to bind her.

“Stick your arse out.”

“What?!” He squeaked, his buttcheeks instinctively tightened.

“Your bum, pretty boy.” She said patiently, drawing lines on his back with the glass blade, mindful not to hurt him. 

He bent over, shaking and sobbing. With a powerful thrust Aza shoved his sheathed dagger all the way into his rectum, then slapped his ass hard enough to leave a handprint. Kjeld screamed and ran out of the main chamber as if he was on fire. She followed him outside, laughing like a lunatic, and watched until he disappeared in the snowy horizon. He didn’t slow down until he completely vanished into the distance.

Still chuckling, Aza took the body of the Orc and threw it over the cliff. She did the same with the Breton. After a moment of consideration, she took her mare inside. She drank a healing potion, rubbed some soothing salve into her knees, ass and face, then drank a potion she had stashed away ‘just in case’. Better safe than sorry. She slept with her horse near the fire, with the door solidly barred this time.


	3. Markarth

In retrospect, Erik should have seen that one coming. There were signs the bitch planned to depart, but he was either too foolish to notice, or too stubborn to admit there was something wrong.

After defeating Alduin, they made a quick stop in Whiterun to pick up their horses and report to the Jarl. There were no honors, no piles of gold as reward for their valor. Balgruuf was relieved, his city was safe. The two left to do whatever they’d want. They chose to ride west.

The City of Stone was a marvel, as with all metropolises built upon ancient Dwemer ruins. Although it recently changed its Jarl, it remained a haven for sellswords of all kinds.

They arrived early in the morning, and for the rest of the day drank in honor of the two Dunmer who paid a significant role in their quest. They had no word from Erandur, it was said he assisted the healers as best as he could, then left a few days later. Jenassa’s body was cremated per his request, he took the ashes with him.

They somehow ended up sneaking into the inner sanctum of the Temple of Dibella. After being caught by the priestesses, they were rashly scolded, lashed with wooden sticks and sent out on a hopeless quest to find Dibella’s future Sybil in order to repent for their trespass.

\---

The Sybil was barely eight years old. She was dirty, hungry, her plain commoner dress in rags. Finding her was quite a feat, as she was abducted from her home village of Karthwasten by the Forsworn. It was best not to know for what purpose.

Erik and Aza fought through a small army of the savages, before freeing her from an abandoned Imperial fort. She was surprisingly calm and spoke too well for her age. There was certainly something strange about that child. They got her out of the damned ruin in haste. 

\---

A hoarse cough cut the night air; Aza caught another cold, probably from when she rolled in the snow on top of the Throat of the World. It was her turn to keep a lookout, she couldn’t sleep anyway. She had a plan brewing and intended to carry it out soon. In a day or two, just to savor the last moments.

Their camp was near a lazy stream, Erik and Fjotra were asleep, the horses were watchful of any nocturnal predators. Dragonflies raced above the water, lunar moths majestically fluttered in the cool night air. The night was as peaceful as possible.

She heard the rustling of leaves; the Sybil, was awake. The girl was standing stiff, as if paralyzed. She was staring straight at the Redguard, she didn’t blink even once. Aza didn’t move. It was said the child was touched by the Gods, but the term was vague enough to mean she was either a seer or mad. She didn’t move a muscle as not to startle the girl, waiting for the Sybil to make the first move.

“Come” she beckoned. Aza dared not resist that tone. The obediently followed the little figure up to the stream. 

Fjotra said nothing, her little finger pointed at the stream. Aza got on all-fours and looked into the water. She could see herself, there was nothing new or unusual about her scarred face. But where should be Fjotra’s reflection was a mysterious naked woman. She instinctively knew it was the girl’s future self. 

“Dovahkiin” the reflection said, the voice seemed to come from under the water, but was also strangely clear and warm.

“I’m delusional, it must be the fever.” The Redguard said with solid confidence.

“The Gods cannot entirely control the affairs of mortals. It is not their intention.” Adult Fjotra’s long hair was enveloping her luscious naked form. “And yet they can bend the odds to give their favored ones a small push.”

“I said I want nothing to do with you!” Aza grinded her teeth. “I killed that dragon, just like you wanted, so now leave me be!”

“A small push, Dovahkiin.” The reflection started to fade away. “No more, no less. What you do with it is up to you.”

The image disappeared, the surface was now smooth and dark. Aza spat in it with thick saliva mixed with mucus. She looked over her shoulder; little Fjotra was gone as well. Instead, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She gasped, then immediately choked and coughed. Her throat was burning, her head seemed as big as a barn.

“It’s okay, it’s me.” Erik said, still keeping his hand on her shoulder. “My turn to keep watch.”

It was all a dream! She wanted to laugh, but hacked and coughed again. She needed healing badly, but the illness was too serious to shake it off with a bit of potions and prayer.

“The kid?” She inquired, coughing up the fluids that settled down her throat.

“Sound asleep.” He assured. Indeed, the girl was breathing peacefully next to the fire. 

“Good, good.” She snorted.

“First, we’ll go to the temple. Then the apothecary, and a room at the inn.” Erik insisted, pressing his palm to her forehead. His hands were pleasantly cold.

“Are you going to take care of me?” She muttered, feeling a bit of relief.

“I’m going to pamper you until you beg me to stop.” He promised with a smirk. “Sleep. Your coughing keeps waking me up.” 

\---

“I must say, I am surprised the lots of you got our Sybil here safe and sound. You’ve earned the Goddesses’ forgiveness.” Mother Hamal said graciously, her hand rested on Fjotra’s shoulder. She had the hands of a young girl, not an elderly woman. The beauty and elegance of Dibella’s priestesses was more than just a rumor. 

“We’re honored” Erik said, when his partner was trying to refrain from spitting her lungs out.

They trotted in place for a moment, but Hamal had no intention of paying them.

“These people deserve a reward.” Fjotra suddenly said, her voice had nothing of a child’s tone.

The High Priestess looked down upon the girl. Her face was transfixed for a moment.

“Yes, of course.” She said, slowly, reaching into her robe’s pocket. 

“Mighty thanks!” Erik grinned, weighting the coinpurse he was presented with. Meanwhile, Aza wiped the sweat from her face, maintaining balance with difficulty. She was going to either faint or throw up.

“You’re welcome. Now, if you excuse us…” Hamal gestured them to leave.

The Redguard gave the temple one last sharp look, before following Erik out, she was far too exhausted to even think.

“Don’t worry!” She heard the Sybil’s cheerful tone. “It’s going to be alright!”

The heroine stopped and looked over her shoulder; Hamal was about to enter the inner sanctum, but Fjotra squirmed from her grasp and was now bending over a stone basin in the middle of the chamber.

“What’s going to be alright?” The Redguard asked, fearing the answer. Will the kid give her another dim prophecy?

“You’re concerned whether the priestesses will be good to me, right? They will.” The girl smiled, her dirty cheeks lit up. Thankfully, she wasn’t in a trance of any sort.

“Good to know. Take care, kiddo.” Aza faintly smiled back.

“Good luck out there.” Fjotra bid the sniffing woman. “Dovahkiin” she added quieter after the bronze doors slammed shut. 

\---

Another city, another inn, another room that was going to be home for a day or two. The bed was made of stone, but cushioned with the softest and thickest mattress in all of the Reach. Erik smiled, mixing the ingredients they bought from the hag in the apothecary shop. It was a recipe he knew and enjoyed so well back home; troll fat with fire salts. The best remedy for a cough and fever. And an amazing lubricant to jerk-off with.

“Gimme booze!” Aza cried, laying flat under a thick blanket.

“No, you just drank your medicine.” He refused calmly. “Be a good girl and sweat the flu out.”

“Arse” she snorted. But she was just testing him. It was good to see he wasn’t so malleable anymore, that he wasn’t afraid of her and could say ‘no’. Although, she missed playing mom to the pup he used to be.

She rested her head on the pillow, her hair was wet and in a mess. Her skin felt sticky and slimy. She was repulsed by herself. She had to do something about it.

“Where you off to?” He asked, when she jumped out of the bed and rushed across the room.

“Shower!” She screeched, throwing her damp nightshirt behind. Where she was laying just a second ago was a wet outline of her frame.

Markarth and Solitude shared one distinct feature; both cities had plumbing and running water. Thanks to the ancient Dwemer Aza could enjoy a hot shower. She approached two valves in the stone wall and turned them with effort; a stream of hot water came down from a bronze showerhead. She exhaled with relief, as steam rose in the small bathing room. 

“Should I tie you to the bed?” She heard Erik call from behind. His hands closed on her hips, then slid up her waist. She felt his leg brushing against hers, it was amazing how fast he undressed and got here.

“Why not? But spank me first, okay?” She joked.

He snickered. He cupped her breasts and gently massaged them, making her chest relax a bit. Pinching and rolling her nipples, he made her semiconsciously rock her ass back and forth.

“How about this” he proposed, whispering into her ear. “A quick shower, then you get to the bed and let me do all the rest? What do you say?”

“Where have you been all my life?” Aza sneezed, closing her eyes.

“Tending the crops, ma’am.” Erik said with a slight twang he could never get rid of. 

He pushed her heavy breasts up, so that the nipples were just below her chin. His cheek rubbed against her shoulder, as he watched her take them in her mouth and suckle on their velvet brown nubs. His member thickened and bumped against her leg, but he hadn’t planned to have her under the shower. 

She sneezed again, reaching for a sponge and bathing mixture. 

“I guess this is the part where I say something about being a dirty girl, hm?” She joked, handling him the foamy sponge.

She hacked as Erik scrubbed her back, but it wasn’t as hoarse as before, the medicine started to work. Her palms firmly pressed against the wall whilst she stuck her behind out, enjoying the rough sponge brushing against her skin. He washed her curves with pleasure, focusing a tad longer on her inner thighs. She squealed when he ran the sponge between her buttocks.

“You’re good, go lie down.” He said, turning the valves off. The stone chamber was stuffy with steam. 

She dried her hair and went back to the bedroom wrapped in a thick, soft towel. The room and service in the Silver-Blood Inn were lavish and costly, but Aza thought they deserved one last luxurious moment before departing. She glanced at her armor left on the stone desk in the corner. In her satchel was a small bottle containing… She quickly looked away, laying down on the sheets, still tugged in the towel.

Erik followed, energetically drying his hair. His bush needed trimming again, but she was too tired to nag. His cock looked like a red mammoth’s trunk. She wanted to snicker, but ended up sighing.

“I thought about checking out those rumors we heard about the Dawnguard, you know?” He said, whipping his hair back. He then used the same towel to dry his pubes.

“I’m not pulling you from some undead slut’s grasp again.” The Redguard replied, sliding her arms and legs wide apart. “Hey!” She complained when he took her towel without warning.

“Relax” he said patiently, throwing it on one of the chairs. 

He reached for the bowl with the salve he mixed and put it on the nightstand. The smell and texture were just like he remembered. 

“Whatcha got there?” Aza asked cautiously.

“Something good for you.” He replied, generously greasing his palms. “And I’m not talking about myself.”

“Don’t get all smug over me.” She grunted.

He proceeded to rub the mixture into her chest, neckline and ribs. Aza released a long, exhausted moan.

“Fire salts?” She guessed right.

“It’s hard for a Nord to catch a cold, but once that somehow happens…” He dramatically cut the sentence. “… It has many other uses.”

“You used this to jerk-off, didn’t you?” She guessed without a blink.

He laughed embarrassed, his palms drew circles around her tits. He had a sudden idea.

“You want to kill me?!” She squeaked when he mounted her chest, his cock slid between her greased breasts.

“My lady, you insult me!” He laughed, pressing them hard on his thickening shaft. His cock already started to pleasantly itch. This brought back memories.

“Asshole!” She grunted, but was too tired to fight. She let him ride her rack as he pleased. Truth be told, it was actually pleasant. The salve was working indeed, and the friction increased the effect. If only his glans didn’t try to pierce her throat. 

“You know, speaking of assholes. Remember that little promise you made me?”

“Hm?” She searched her memory. She seldom promised anything, but she suddenly felt strange anxiety.

“On our way from Solitude to High Hrothgar you promised me something.”

“Oh shit…!” She remembered. 

“Yep. You said that if we defeat Alduin and live long enough to bask in out triumph, you’d let me do your ass however I’d like.”

“Now?!” 

“Yes, now. You’re burning with fever, so you won’t fidget. And I can only imagine how hot you’re inside…”

“You bastard! I’m defenseless and you’re taking advantage of the situation!” The wretch cried.

“Like you never done that to me.” Erik laughed disturbingly, pinching her nipples. “Come on, I won’t be rowdy, promise. And I got some salve and soothing balm. Don’t want to do any harm to you. ”

“Fine!” She gave in. She knew he’d nag until she’d scream. Men and their strange need to eventually ask for anal… “Just make it quick.”

“Are you kidding? I’m going to relish on every moment of it.”

He rolled her flat on her stomach, then rubbed the remains of the salve into her shoulders and back. Her muscles were tense, her ass firmly shut. He stroked her rump, only making her anxiety direr.

“Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m the first to do you in the ass!” He grunted, giving her a light slap on one of her round buttocks.

“Yeah, like calling me a slut will make me feel better.” She muttered, shoving a pillow under her pelvis. 

Erik sighed. Looks like she won’t be much cooperative. Well, he was in charge, apparently, so he should get down to it. First, he mounted her, his fully awake dick slid between her cheeks, but he didn’t attack yet. Instead, he firmly sandwiched himself and rode her ass, conjuring a muffled coo from her.

Aza sighed, trying to relax. She contemplated having him in her backdoor in the past, but this didn’t seem like a good idea now. She didn’t feel like coughing anymore, her chest was warmed and relaxed. She was still famished and could only lay passively, hoping he won’t get any stupid ideas.

He pulled himself back, her bum was shining from the salve in the warm light of the Dwemer chandelier. No other women had that distinct shape and curve like Redguards. 

“Please tell me you’ll just keep staring and jerk-off like a good boy…” she whined.

“Nope.” He said cheerfully, moistening his finger.

Her asshole squeezed and jerked away as he pricked it. He snickered, pinning her thighs with his knees. She whimpered humiliated, biting into the sheets as he pushed inside. She had a fever indeed, he never felt her this hot. He kept poking her, enjoying her being the one to squirm for a change. The rhythmical pulsing around his finger made him wonder how will it fit around his penis. He pulled out with a popping noise, she moaned strained.

“You’re burning up inside!” He noted, groping and squeezing her buns. She was already perspiring.

“Thank you for stating the obvious… Hey!” She cried, suddenly felling his tongue. “Hah! Dirty deep down inside like all men.” She laughed cynically.

“I washed you first.” He replied unaffected.

His tongue played with her little hole, generously salivating all over it. Aza spread her thighs wider, he stuck his thumb in her relaxed, slowly moistening pussy. 

“Just don’t forget the lubrication.” She reminded, breathing heavily. She knew the pain was inevitable, but having him inside was something she couldn’t pass up.

“Of course, what kind of insensitive bastard do you take me for?”

He reached for a bottle he hid behind her medicine and poured the content all over his veined cock and her trembling anus. He was growing impatient, but forced himself to keep it cool. This was a delicate matter and could end up nasty if carried out wrong.

The Redguard looked over her shoulder, as Erik’s palms rested firmly at her sides. His tip spread her cheeks apart, finding her hole. He motioned slightly, finding out how tight she was. He noticed her nervous gaze and winked. He knew what he was doing. Or at least he thought so.

Slowly, he pushed the first inch in. The resistance and heat were incredible, but this wasn’t a juicy cunt. Aza arched her back, but didn’t protest when the next inch followed. She just had to endure it. 

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. Knock yourself out.” She replied.

His hairs tickled her rump as the rest of his length was inserted. He pushed most of the air out of her lungs when he rested on her flat. He bit her ear, refraining from any sudden moves and giving her some time to adjust.

Anal could be fun, but nothing would ever beat having her pussy fucked and her clit licked. Most of the times the discomfort wasn’t worth it. And with his size it was ripping pain. But she bit her tongue and didn’t complain. He deserved to enjoy himself before…

“You feel amazing.” He whispered into her ear.

“Your first blowjob, your first time, your first anal…” She gasped out, squirming below. “I have nothing more to defile, unless…”

“You keep yourself away from my arse.” He warned, guessing her intentions.

“Typical. It’s okay you tear my rectum, but Gods forbid anyone touches yours.”

“I’m not going to tear anything” he promised, breathing on her neck.

He pushed gently, then with more confidence. The salve greased her enough, and she had time to adjust to his size. He enjoyed the new type of tight flesh so firmly pressing against him. And the heat! He felt as if he was going to melt. He steadily increased the speed and pace, relieved that he could push in and out with less difficulty than anticipated. 

Aza wetted the sheet she was biting on. It hurt, even though he was careful. But in time she stretched enough to feel his cock massaging her rectum. The faint pleasure made the whole ordeal a bit less unpleasant. She felt droplets of sweat slide off her sides as he kept pumping her rougher. Her asshole was going numb from the friction and tempo. He filled her completely. There was just one thing bothering her…

“Don’t come inside!” She conditioned. “It’s troublesome.”

“Too late” he said through clenched teeth, about to ejaculate.

He climaxed, shooting his cum deep into her insides. Aza yelped, feeling how her feverish body was filled with his warm foamy sperm. His victorious groan mixed with her curses, his palms firmly held her by the shoulders, his nails leaving marks on her skin. The pressure was unbearable, some of his load shot out. Aza bit her lips painfully hard, her pussy dripped in response.

For a longer moment he rested his groin against her ass, with his eyes closed and head rolled back. He wanted to remember this moment right, knowing she won’t let him do her like this again. Well, maybe under special circumstances, but he suspected that won’t happen anytime soon.

“Fucker…” she groaned.

“Thank you, thank you.” He sneered, enjoying one last, insanely slow jerk. “No, please, no standing ovations. I know I’m good.”

He pulled out, enjoying the humiliated sounds she made. Though she tried to keep it in, her asshole started to leak his seed. Soon, it was overflowing her thighs and the pillow underneath, some got on her pussy as well.

“This is the last time you get anal.” She said sternly, still laying on her stomach.

“The last time I get anal from you.” He corrected, forgetting most women would scream if he’d tell them he wanted his dick in their ass. 

“Get me ice. Now!” She demanded, throwing the cum stained pillow at him.

He dodged with grace and sprang up from the bed. Dressing himself, he was humming a tune. His mood was splendid. 

As the door closed behind him, Aza quickly got up. She cried a curse in pain, this was going to be a killer for the next few days. She reached for her satchel. She frowned, knowing what she was about to do. But she made this decision long ago, and it was for the best. 

As she was standing still staring at the little bottle, all of his cum leaked out, marking her legs and the floor. She’ll miss that feeling, though not necessarily in her asshole. She did what she had to do and got back to the initial position, waiting for Erik to come back.

“Gimme!” She ordered, reaching out for the bag of ice he brought. “And drink, you bastard, you deserved it.” She said, pointing at a freshly poured cup of spiced mead. She welcomed the coolness of the ice between her buttocks with a loud sigh.

“How kind.” He smiled widely, raising the cup.

But before drinking, he leaned forward and gave her a quick smooch on the cheek. Aza gasped surprised. She instantly felt terrible. Like a traitor.

“To us, the unstoppable duo!” He said, before drinking everything in one gulp. “What?” He asked, noticing her intense stare.

“Nothing. I’m just glad things worked out for you, that’s all.” She said, faking a smile.

“It wasn’t always pretty. But thanks for everything.” His irises already widened, but perhaps it was the intimacy of the moment.

“You’re welcome.” She replied, beckoning him to join her.

Erik laid next to her on his side. His movements were slow, it was for the best he didn’t stand up. He pulled himself closer, resting his forehead on her shoulder. She slung her arm over him and pulled to his favorite position with his face resting safely on her breasts. 

“I’m proud of you.” She quietly said, ruffling his hair. “You’ll be careful, okay?”

“Whaat?” He asked hazily.

“Nothing, sleep.” She comforted, holding him tighter. She loathed herself, but bore it as best as she could.

“I don’t want to…” His eyelids felt heavy, his mind slipped into darkness.

Aza kept stroking his hair until his breathing became regular and deep. He was bound to stay asleep for at least twelve hours, she should get some rest before leaving Markarth. To where? It didn’t matter, she knew she’d soon find trouble anyway. 

She slept surprisingly pleasantly, only once suffering from a rough spasm of cough. In the morning she slithered form his embrace with a heavy heart. She rinsed herself, got in her armor and packed her things. She took the soothing balm and what was left of the fire salt salve. Although it was cliché and cowardly, she scribbled a quick note, as she couldn’t force herself to leave without at least trying to explain. She gave him one last look, feeling proud and torn. But he was a man, not a lad and if she’d ever want to be his partner again, she had to give him some time alone. 

She left, mustering up all her willpower to keep from looking over her shoulder. Downstairs, she paid the inkeep for their stay, pretending she didn’t hear how the woman scolded her husband in a tone that would make any man want to kill himself. She left the inn, suddenly realizing how easily she could breathe. His ‘pampering’ did its thing.

But her ass was going to keep reminding of itself for the next couple of days, as she realized mounting her mare. She quickly dismounted and walked with her side by side. It felt strange to be alone again after those months with the aspiring farmboy. The Slayer… He should call himself the Ass Destroyer! Her mare neighed miserably, now realizing she won’t be seeing her bay sister anytime soon.

\---

It was around midday when Erik awoke from the poison infused sleep. His vision was blurry, his tongue stiff and dry. He fell off the bed and crawled into the bathing room. With tremendous effort, he grabbed the valves and fell on the floor letting ice-cold water pour on him. He spent a longer moment like this, licking the water straight from the stone floor. 

“Aza!” He called. He must have got whatever she had. “Aza!” He called again, realizing this wasn’t the flu. It felt like a serious case of hangover, but with a metallic undertone, like… poison. 

He tried to get up, only to fall down and hurting his knee, as everything went dark for a second. He stubbornly got up again, and grabbing anything that could break a possible fall, managed to get back to the bedroom.

She wasn’t there. Her stuff was gone as well. He pushed the thought of being abandoned aside, fooling himself this was too unreal to be true. But doubt brought along cold logic. He was alone.

He noticed the note almost instantly. He needn’t read it, its very presence made his fears a brutal fact. The bitch left him. He sat on the bed, dripping water and trying to gather his thoughts. He could hear blood rushing through his temples as his blood pressure rose.

He didn’t cry like a whelp. He got angry like a man. He reached for the cursed cup and took a deep whiff. The smell of his drink hid the scent of poison. The clay vessel cracked and broke under his grip, blood flew down his forearm. There was no point in searching or asking anyone, she was far away by now. And he had no intention of staying himself. He had to get out of this city as fast as he could, before he snaps and kills someone.

He sneezed. Great, she did give him the flu after all.

\---

Berthe gave the man at the counter a long, scrutinizing look. He reminded her of someone, but it couldn’t possibly be who she thought. The contrast was too sharp.

“Who are you gawking at?” Her husband Seigmir asked, faithful to his jealous nature.

“That fellow over there, doesn’t he remind you of someone?” She questioned in disbelief.

Her happily wedded followed her gaze. His brows crossed, then rose as he observed a red-haired man argue with the barkeep. He did recognize that face, though the expression was so unfitting for it. 

“By the Gods, isn’t that your friend from Rorikstead? The innkeeper’s son, Erik?” 

“I think so.” She let her thoughts drift away.

She remembered being friends with him back when she was a young lass in Rorikstead. She used to spend time with the ginger whelp, even though he was a bit socially awkward and could often be found so deep in his thoughts, that he jumped when you approached him. She remembered that when Seigmir was away fighting the Forsworn, she snuck out with the lad and showed him how to kiss. Back then, she was engaged with her now husband, but didn’t treat that whole thing seriously. Unlike Erik, who took it hard when she explained she liked him ‘only as a friend’. 

Months passed, Seigmir returned with enough gold to take her away from the dull hamlet and live happily in Markarth, where he had a steady job as a guard in Cidhna Mine. She had almost forgotten her old life in the quiet village. Truth be told, she never admitted to her new friends, all townspeople, that she used to herd geese. 

“I think I should go say hello.” She suggested, attempting to get up from the small table they were dining at.

“No!” He said harshly. “You stay here, woman. If it’s him I’ll give him your hello.”

He approached the counter. The man’s back was facing him, but Seigmir could clearly see how enraged he was. And the axe he was carrying was clearly not for show.

“She paid for everything?” The man’s shoulders tensed.

“Yes, your gold won’t be needed.” Kleppr replied, growing annoyed. He had difficult patrons before, but this was the Silver-Blood Inn. One wrong move, and it’s off to Cidhna Mine with you.

“That bitch. Guess she didn’t say anything more?” He ended the sentence with a cough.

“Only that you are not to be disturbed.”

“Of course she did… I won’t take any more of your time.” The man turned to leave.

He and the mine guard stood face to face. Gods, this was Mralki’s son, but he was so different. So… mannish. His eyes were cold and at the same time burning, his jaws clenched tight, pronouncing a scar on his left cheek. He also had a small crescent-shaped cut under his right eye. And he had more than just a few hairs on his face, unlike when Seigmir saw him last; a clumsy smooth-faced whelp, knee-down in dirt from working the field all day long.

“Erik! What a surprise!”

“Get out of my face.” The man said, passing him by without slowing his pace. 

Even if he recognized Seigmir, he was too infuriated to bother with him. He passed Berthe, the woman gasped seeing the long-healed cut on his face and neck. She felt a strange fire in her womb. She kept staring until the doors shut behind him, trying to remember every detail of that face and posture. It was him! Divines, if she’d knew what would become of that spineless whelp, she’d stay in Rorikstead for as long as she’d have to!

“It wasn’t him.” Seigmir said gravely, sitting heavily next to his wife.

“Are you sure?” She knew he was lying.

“Yes, I’m sure!” He grunted. “It was just some asshole, now finish your food and let’s go home!”

As the couple went back to their meal, Kleppr thought he could have a short brake. How wrong he was. A damp rag whipped the back of his head.

“Kleppr!” Frabbi, his venomous wife hissed. “Did you tell that vagabond his room was already paid for? You thoughtless oaf, we could have charged for it twice!”


	4. Separate Ways

Regular spiders were bad enough. Frostbite spiders were a revolting blight on the face of Skyrim. But a mine infested with frostbite spiders? Now that was something only a madman would agree to clear out. 

That madman exited Redbelly Mine covered in gore and bits of cobweb. Thankfully, it did not belong to him alone. His vision was blurry, the poison the damned beasts bore was taking its effect. 

“By the Divines, you alright?” Filnjar, the blacksmith and unofficial head of the local community, approached him concerned.

“Uh… I’m dizzy. But them there, those… uh things with hairy legs…” the hero had foam in the corners of his mouth. “I got ‘em alright. So… um… you can pay me and I’ll be…”

The blacksmith missed him by mere inches and the man fell on his back, his red hair was soaked in sweat. There was a woman’s scream, then a calm, but firm voice.

“Stand aside Filnjar, I got this!”

Erik felt warmth on his temples and light slipping through his shut eyelids. He opened his eyes with difficulty, seeing a familiar face.

“Erandur?” He whispered barely audible. Was he hallucinating or was it really the priest of Mara?

“Don’t speak, my friend. You’re bloated with poison, I must concentrate.”

The Dunmer focused all his will on flushing the poison out. Erik inhaled deeply, enjoying the evening air fill his lungs. Erandur’s hands were pleasantly warm and soothing, he felt the toxins evaporate with his every breath.

He cautiously stood up. Now did he notice the chestnut horse grazing near one of the miner’s houses, next to his bay mare, but paying her no mind. He was a gelding, after all. One of the miners, a petite but energetic young woman, was looking over Erandur’s shoulder. She had a small nose and pouty lips, her hair was short and dark. She looked an awful like Ysolda.

“Thanks.” He said, brushing off some of the strange goo one of the spiders gushed on him.

The four stood for awkwardly a moment.

“I’ll… go see how’s the stew doing.” The woman said, after trotting inn place a bit.

“I’ll join you soon.” The priest replied.

“I assume the two of you know each other?” Filnjar raised his brow.

“You could say that.” Erik rubbed his hindhead.

“We… were on a mission once.” Erandur explained briefly.

“I see… Listen, laddie” the blacksmith addressed the hero. “It’s getting dark and you’re in no condition to travel. You can stay in my house for the night, I have some furs you could rest on next to the fire.”

“That would be great. But about my pay…”

“You’ll get your gold, no worries. I’ll even be generous and give you a small discount on repairing your armor and that axe.”

“So you can pay me less?” Erik laughed tiredly. Still, his gear could use repairing. “I’m in.”

“I’m surprised to see you again, my friend.” Erandur said once they were alone. They sat where the miners would relax after work; on logs near a small bonfire.

“So am I. We…” he bit his tongue too late. “We were in Whiterun after… you know, doing the deed. But you were already gone. Well, the world is still standing, so you know we got the job done.”

“I am relieved. Even though I was of no use to you…”

“Nonsense.” Erik drew circles in the ground with a stick. “The bitch left me.” He suddenly said, surprised how calm he sounded.

“I see.” Erandur’s face was hard to read.

“Yeah. Left me a nice note and everything. Wrote I’m a man now and I don’t need her constantly looking over my shoulder. That I should go and make my own decisions and mistakes now. And if fate really does exist, like I kept telling her, we’ll meet again. Well, if that happens, I’ll be ready. ” He stuck the stick deep in the ground, the twig snapped. “And so will my axe.”

“I am not surprised she made such a decision.” The elf said quietly.

“What?!”

“Forgive me if I sound inconsiderate.” Erandur humbly bowed his head. “But I think some time alone gives you perspective. I… I’ve been here, in Shor’s Stone before. I was on my way to Dawnstar back then. That’s when I met Sylgja, the lovely lady you just saw.”

“She looks an awful like…” Erik coughed, remembering the night in Nightcaller Temple. “You were saying?”

“She had suffered from a fall and broke her leg. I helped her as best as I could, then was on my way to face the Vaermina coven.” He began his tale. An owl flew nearby carrying a fat mouse in its claws. “I was of no use after assisting the healers in Kynareth’s temple, whilst you fought the World-Eater. I left Whiterun with no fixed destination. I took her horse and ashes, it felt like the right thing to do.” He said. ‘Her’ was of course Jenassa, the amazon who met her end between Odahviing’s jaws. 

“Go on.” Erik encouraged patiently. He missed talking to someone other than innkeepers and stable masters.

“I scattered her ashes in a place I found suiting. Forgive me, but I can’t tell, it’s considered bad luck among Dunmer to reveal where one’s ashes are. I needed some time to think my life over. I wandered Skyrim until I decided to go to Riften and visit Mara’s temple. Ironic, isn’t it? I’m a reformed priest of Her Benevolence, and yet I have never been to her temple.” He rubbed his gray palms.

“That must have been difficult.”

“It was. I was looking for answers, for Mara to give me a sign. I will never forget the priestess that welcomed me. She was a Dunmer like me, her eyes were completely black. And yet, she was the picture of peace and kindness. I told her who I was and why I came. She told me Mara needed an emissary. I was sent here, to Shor’s Stone, to tell the first person I would meet their prayer was answered. You already know that person was Sylgja.”

“Oh.”

“Mara moves in mysterious ways. I remained here for a few days, enjoying the company and hospitality. The miners often suffer from falls and poisonous gases, the nearest healers are in Riften. I was offered to stay and practice my skills as a healer. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“You don’t want to settle down?”

“I do. I feel I finally found my place and purpose. Perhaps Mara is giving me a sign that my penitence is over? I dare not assume I know her intentions.”

“Why not? I say go for it.” Erik advised, feeling tired. He wished Erandur all the best, but he had his own problems. “I should get some sleep. I’m glad things are turning right for you, but I’m preoccupied with my own troubles. I leave first thing in the morning.”

“I understand and hold no grudge. I won’t preach, but know this; Mara is the goddess of love and compassion, but I think her greatest gift is forgiveness. And with that I leave you, I’m sure Sylgja grows impatient.”

They shook hands and exchanged wishes of good fortune. Erik went to Filnjar’s house, Erandur to Sylgja’s.

\---

“I can see your leg is now fully healed.” He noted, gently rubbing her ankle.

“Due in no small part thanks to you.”

Sylgja’s house was small and cozy. It composed of just one room, but had everything she needed; a bed, drawer chest, fireplace and table. The fire was flickering, casting warm light all around. The smell of the simple, but satisfying supper they ate was still in the air.

Erandur ran his fingertips up her calf and thigh, enjoying the peace of the moment. He reached for a plain clay mug and drank, surprised he never had spiced mead before. Enjoying the flavor settling in his mouth, he rested his head on her thigh. Her skin was light, surprisingly smooth and warm, unlike the hot dry skin of Dark Elves.

“Are you going to just stare?” The Nord woman asked, taking his reverie for lack of interest. “I was hoping to be your dessert.” She chuckled, adjusting herself more comfy on the table, with her legs spreading over the edge.

“Your hospitality is unmatched, my lady.” He praised, massaging her thighs. 

He rolled her shirt up, freeing her wonderfully soft and full breasts. Swinging a pitchaxe did wonders for their shape. Sylgja sighed, cupping them and pinching her nipples, whilst the priest’s gentle hands progressed towards her sweet pussy. She had a rare shape, as her whole vulva was hidden inward between her plump outer lips. He had to spread them to see her hot and eager lips. Her hairs were trimmed short, dark and soft, unlike elven women’s who had no body hair, but he didn’t mind.

“Take your hood off, I want to see your hair…” She pleaded, pouting.

Erandur obliged, his well-kept dark hair was fashioned in a tight braid that reached all the way to his mid back. The miner’s cheeks blushed when he pulled it over his shoulder. He never suspected women could react so enthusiastically at the sight hidden under his monk hood.

“Ah! You tickle!” She cried with pleasure when he dug in, sliding his nimble tongue inside. His beard was pleasantly itchy.

“Shall I stop?”

“No!”

He enjoyed her wetting slit, as he felt excitement overcoming him. She was full of life and energy. Her straightforward, spontaneous personality struck a chord in his heart. After the dark years as a Vaermina worshipper, and years of penitence as a priest of Mara, he could finally be himself and live his own life. Mayhap something did push him towards this sweet, young creature? Mayhap Mara did give him a sign? Mayhap…

Overthinking was a waste of time. Right now, all he wanted to focus on, was fucking her so good, that she’ll never want anything else than Dunmer cock. He already gave her a few intense evenings, but he wanted to fully convince her that once you go gray, you never go back.

“You make me melt…” Sylgja sighed, as he continued eating her shy pussy.

“I want to make you overflow, sera.” Erandur’s wide smile had nothing to do with innocence. He reached for a small bowl with honey. 

“It’s all sticky.” She giggled enthusiastically, when he sweetened her already sweet cunt.

“It’s worth it.” He said, enjoying the unique taste that filled his mouth. “If only you knew how good you taste.”

She reached for his hand and pulled up to her mouth. She licked and sucked his fingers, little sparkles danced in her eyes. Though sweet and humble in the day, she was full of ideas at night.

“I want to taste you when you come inside me.” She whispered, licking off the remains of her own juices and honey.

“And how would you make me come?” The elf teased.

“First I want to suck you nice and good, so you’re hard and slippery” she said, sliding off the table and down to her knees. “And then I want you to take me on the fur in front of the fire.”

“I’d love that.” He said, relaxing and gently patting her on the head, whilst the miner took care of the bulge under his robes. 

The very sight of his member always made her look so amusingly surprised. She never had a circumcised man before, not to mention a Mer. She was always overjoyed to take his thin, but long shaft in her mouth. And the sounds she made! Her lovely slurping and sucking were music to his ears.

She polished his spear until he felt he couldn’t take it anymore. He tore off his robe and dragged her to the fireplace. Giggling, she got on all fours and eagerly stuck her ass out like a bitch in heat. She reached behind and stretched her twat open, inviting him to nail her however he’d please. 

Erandur struck with a finesse thrust. Her wail conjured shivers down his spine. He grabbed her arms and pulled back, so that he was in her to the bare limits. Sylgja cried and whimpered, as her pussy was rapidly being jabbed by his gray dick. She felt the tip almost jam into her cervix. As the priest foretold, he made her overflow; wet moist dripped down her legs. 

“That’s not fair, I can’t see you!” She complained, wiggling her ripe ass.

“Do you want to?” He teased, as her slippery cheeks grinded against him.

“Yeees!” She squirmed, but he held her firmly. 

He made her endure the subtle torture for a moment before lessening his grip. She immediately lied on her back and wrapped herself around him, greedily biting into his lips. The Dunmer grunted, yet again awestruck by her vigor. He kept thrusting, squeezing out all the wetness out of her youthful pussy. 

Sylgja impatiently undid his braid and let his hair flow freely down his back. Dark Elves had the most amazing eyes, their skin felt incredible to the touch. Tasting an elf’s mouth was addictive almost as much as sucking one’s uncovered cock.

“Aah…” he groaned when she reached and grabbed his scrotum. “Not that hard my lady, have mercy on me!”

“I’m almost there” her eyes were glazed with pleasure. “I want you to come inside me.”

“So you can have a taste?” He asked amused, slamming hard into her womb.

“Yes…!” Her sweet voice was strained and yet ecstatic.

He bit into her neck as he felt his loins move without his will. The girl sunk her hands into his hair, her thighs squeezed his hips like a vise. She cried, almost begged him to climax inside her burning vagina. When he gave in to her pleas, the girl felt streams of his cum fill her in hard, disharmonious intervals. She came, her plump labials shut tight around his throbbing shaft, rapaciously keeping his sperm from leaking out.

The smell of her sweat had a warm note. Perhaps it was a matter of pheromones. Whatever it was, Erandur was drawn to it. She moaned, patting him on the back. He drifted away in his thoughts and was now smothering her. With a muttered apology, he laid flat on his back, his hair and beard were in a mess.

Sylgja rubbed her belly, not a thought spoiled her bliss. The priest observed her with a smile. He reached down to her slit and scooped some of his cum. She licked his fingers with delight. This was it, no Nord could have that spicy flavor. She doubted she’d ever go back to Men after having a Mer.

“How does it taste?”

“Spicy… with something sweet, I think it’s the honey.”

“That’s you, my dear.”

She brushed her sweaty hair back, her heart started to slow down its crazy pace. For a moment there was silence. She started growing anxious of what will happen now. She glanced at the elf, who’s burning red eyes were fixed on her.

“I’m sorry, I’m simply trying to make my words good enough for what I want to say. I… well…” he lost his resolve. “Would love to have you as dessert every night.” He said before realizing how absurd his words were.

Sylgja laughed, rolling on the fur. Her tits bounced freely. He was sweet when he was awkward.

“My bed is large enough for two and I have a lot of room.” She made seemingly irrelevant note.

“I have little to bring into this house aside from my good intentions and devotion.” He said solemnly.

“Oh stop it you!” She puffed, resting her head on his chest. “I’d be glad to have you, my friend.”

“Friend?”

“You’ll need to do much better, than make me cry out your name in pleasure.” She teased.

In the morning the priest went to find Filnjar. The smith was up early as always, going about his morning routine at his forge.

“If you’d got up a bit earlier, you could say goodbye to your friend.” The blacksmith said as a greeting. “Just as I was finished with his gear overnight, he was on his horse.”

“We said our goodbyes yesterday. But that’s not why I’m here. I accept your offer.” The elf said.

For a moment Filnjar was staring into the distance. A good healer was hard to come by and accidents occurred daily.

“I’m glad.” He said, putting his hammer away. “A healer is exactly what the miners need. Your skills are invaluable to us. We have little to offer…”

“I think I have everything I need right here.” Erandur said humbly. This was going to be a good day.

\---

“Trolls!” Borgakh the Steel Heart spat on the dead creature’s head. “No match for an Orc.”

The cave was now cleared of its inhabitants. There were next to no spoils, as trolls valued meat over trinkets. Yet, their fat and skulls could fetch a nice price with the right people.

The chiefman’s proud daughter sheathed her sword. The main chamber was filled with the stench of trolls, she had to catch a breath of fresh air.

“Warn me next time you decide to play juggernaut.” Her companion nagged, appearing from behind a nearby rock.

Borgakh snorted. The Redguard woman, who convinced her to get out of the stronghold and see the world, was a fierce warrior, but in the long term her company was tiresome.

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” The Orc replied indifferently.

“You can go back home if you don’t like it, princess” Aza grunted. “Come on, I found a coinpurse one of the poor bastards they ate must have dropped. Enough to afford not skinning them for a few coins.”

“I’m the chief’s daughter, not a princess.” Borgakh protested.

“I see no difference.” The Redguard said. “Both have little freedom and have to marry some influential prick. But whatever.”

The Orc kicked a dead troll as they were leaving the dark cave. Yes, she had to marry another chief soon. And yes, she didn’t want that. She wanted to live her own life. And on the other hand, she didn’t want to disrespect her tribe. She prayed to Malacath to make her as strong as any man and still as wise as any woman. And Malacath answered her prayer. Oh, that he did…

“Finally, fresh air!” She exclaimed, inhaling deeply. Her orcish armor shone in the moonlight.

“There’s a pond nearby. Good place for a camp.” Aza noted.

“Lead on.”

The two set up camp and ate. Aza’s mare was grazing nearby. Borgakh refused to ride a mount as she wanted to ‘walk the world on her own two feet’. Thankfully she didn’t shoot hungry looks at the animal, like most of her kinsmen did.

“So, how are you enjoying freedom?”Aza asked, after they were done with their food and drink.

“It’s… good.” The Orc said. “I’m happy, I guess.”

“Careful there, that enthusiasm of yours might rip you into pieces.” The adventurer yawned.

She persuaded Steel Heart to travel with her on an impulse. It was more as a means to fill the irritating void she felt travelling alone, than the Orc’s good. Still, she didn’t envy the position of chiefmen’s daughters. Strength and pride were what made a good Orc wife, yes, but in the end most had their weddings arranged.

“So… Had fun raiding that ancient tomb?” She made idle conversation, referring to a ruin they explored recently.

“Yes.” Borgakh agreed.

“I expected more than just confirmation. Come on, engage me in conversation.”

“I can engage you in some hand-to-hand drill.” The Orc’s yellow eyes narrowed.

“I’ll pass.” Aza shrugged. “Fine, be that way. I’m not gonna smooch your arse.” She yawned. “Nighty night.”

She was about to lay down under her cape and call it a night, but Steel Heart motioned closer to her bedroll.

“It’s chilly, we should sleep together.” She said boldly. “Don’t get any ideas. It’s the warmth I want from you and nothing else.”

“I hear you.” The Redguard gave her some room. “I’m not looking forward to pneumonia either.”

“Keep your hands above the waist.” The Orc’s voice suddenly had a sharp tone.

“Would you believe I can control myself?” The scarred adventurer grunted.

They spooned, giving each other some comfort from the cold that roamed Haafingar. The cape gave more warmth than a normal piece of material would. No doubt it was enchanted with a warming effect, a perfect thing for this weather. It started to snow, they semiconsciously clung to each other.

Aza dreamed. The dream was blurry, with no distinctive characters or events. She was positive of one thing; it was a sultry one. In her sleep she held Borgakh tighter, caressing the Orc’s flat and hard stomach. She muttered a name, advancing lower, gently stroking her companion’s groin. Soon, there was a bulge in the Orsimer’s pants. The Redguard’s nimble fingers had no trouble with unlacing them and freeing a steadily developing erection.

“Mmm… Missed me?” Aza muttered, steadily jerking the thick shaft. “Because I did…” She stretched to bite his neck. But it wasn’t him, it was Steel Heart.

A second later, Aza was elbowed in the gut by the Orc. Borgakh rolled away and got on her feet.

“I have no idea who this Erik of yours is, but I’m not him!” She roared enraged. 

“That’s a…!” She shuttered dumbstruck. The Orsimer had a…

“That’s none of your business!” Steel Heart snapped, quickly fastening her pants.

She picked up a few furs and laid as far from Aza as possible, shooting her murderous glares. The snow and wind couldn’t break the awkward silence.

“Um… Well, I have no idea what to say.”

“Then shut up. And don’t you dare get closer.”

“Relax. I’m not going to jump you.” The adventurer assured, regaining her cool. “Not my business what you carry around between your legs.”

“Good.” Borgakh snorted.

\---

Days passed and the strange incident seemed to fade away. The two maintained basic civility, steadily advancing towards the Pale.

“I had a good time with you.” The Orc said, whilst they prepared to rest in a cleared out fort.

“Those few weeks have been interesting.” 

“Yes.” The green-skinned woman bowed her head. “But I’m afraid I will soon leave you. I enjoyed freedom to go wherever I please, but my place is with my people.” She frowned. “I am of age and should be married… If any man would want me like this.”

Aza said nothing, waiting for the chiefman’s daughter to start her tale. Honestly, she was curious how did Borgakh come to possess the best of two worlds.

“I was once conflicted about leaving the stronghold and marrying. I was young and selfish and had no idea what to do. I prayed to Malacath to be as strong as any man and still as wise as a woman. The Prince of the Bloody Curse answered my prayer…” She grunted, then snapped her jaw. Her ivory fangs were perfectly polished. “It seems he has a crude sense of humor. Or maybe he simply punished me for my arrogance, I will never know. The change was subtle, it happened during a longer period of time. In the end, as I matured I was a woman… with a man part.”

“A big, fat, juicy cock.” The Redguard’s good eye was fixed on the Orsimer’s savage, yet attractive face.

“I should’ve known you’d turn it into a joke!” Borgakh grunted, reaching for her weapon. “Stand, I want this over with!” Her yellow eyes were burning, the red war paint made her even more intimidating.

But instead of accepting the challenge, the scarred woman was lounging relaxed on the slain bandit ringleader’s double bed. She was calm and merely observed her companion’s outburst of rage.

“Relax. I’m just stating the obvious. It’s big and fat like any Orc’s. And looks quite tasty, from what I remember.”

“What?” Steel Heart was speechless. Did the Redguard want to… mate with her?

“Yes, I’m hitting on you. Come here.” She made room on the bed.

Borgakh cast her sword aside and sat on the edge. She felt Aza’s hands on her strong shoulders.

“You just want to bed a freak!” She tried to fight the pleasant shivers she felt along her spine, as the Redguard gently worked her tense muscles.

“I won’t lie, I will never have another chance to have such a… unusual bedfellow.” She smirked, feeling how the strong body reacted to her hands. “But I have the feeling you could use some company as well.”

“I’ve never used it on anyone.” The Orc confessed.

Aza almost squealed with joy. Orc dickgirl virgin! This opportunity was just too precious to waste.

“Don’t worry” she whispered into Borgakh’s pointed ear. “I’ll be gentle.”

“And I sure won’t!” The Orc grinned, exposing her teeth.

Before the human woman could act, Steel Heart slung her arm around her waist and shoved off the bed.

“What in Oblivion is wrong with you?!” She yelped, massaging her hindhead.

“Undo my pants and find out.” The Orsimer teased.

With a curse, Aza crawled between Borgakh’s knees and did what she was told to. Gods, that was indeed an impressive dick. She stroked it with both hands, the Orc grunted with pleasure. Underneath the shaft was the slit of the green pussy. It seemed that the cock was previously her clitoris. The vulva was like most orcish; the outer lips were green, the inner coral. 

And just like the inner labials, the glans was also coral underneath the foreskin. The cock hardened and stiffened, ready for her undivided attention. She had no intention of hurrying, she wanted to enjoy this unique experience to the fullest.

“Just watch the teeth!” Steel Heart warned, nervously observing Aza working her member with her lips and tongue.

“I know what I’m doing, trust me.” She assured with a smirk.

There were no balls to cuddle, so she reached for the pussy. She encircled it with her fingertips, at the same time squeezing the base of the green cock, and taking it down all the way to the tonsils. The taste was strangely sharp, but not unpleasant. Borgakh reacted spontaneously, grunting and rocking her hips.

“Don’t slip your fingers in.” She conditioned, spreading her strong thighs wider.

“No worries. I’ll leave you unspoiled.” Aza promised, jerking the marvelously veined shaft. The web of thick veins was sure to make her scream tonight. Just the thought of having it inside made her pussy melt. The proud Orsimer was slippery and sleek as well.

“Do you like it?” She teased, tapping the tip of the penis with her tongue.

“Yes, I do. Are you going to rub it in my face?”

“I’d rather rub my muff in your face.”

“Then bring it over here…” She said boldly, pulling the adventurer up on the bed. She stripped her with little effort.

“You watch the teeth, okay?” Aza squeaked, feeling the sharp fangs on her inner thighs.

“I’ll only use them if you act like a wretch.”

“Ah, you are truly a woman at heart!”

Steel Heart ran her rough tongue up and down Aza’s vulva. Her pointed fangs did the gentle skin no harm.

“Nice haircut.” She noted, licking the strip of trimmed hairs. 

“It’s a thing back on Hammerfell. Ah!” The scarred woman’s voice sunk into a wail when she felt the agile tongue brutally thrust into her vagina. “Aww, damn, damn, damn, I had no idea Orcs can do that!” She screamed, amazed how her companion’s tongue slipped deeper and deeper.

Borgakh knew how to please a woman, since she was one herself. Her sharp tongue found all the tender places and roughly worked them into submission. Aza didn’t try to act tough, she melted in the green woman’s tight clutch, dripping and squirming.

“Enough!” The Orc suddenly roared. She grabbed the Redguard by the knees and bend them, raising her ebony hips. 

“Wouldn’t you like to lay down and have me do all the work?” Aza asked a bit concerned. Borgakh was a big girl, it wasn’t clear if she knew her own strength and the size of her member. 

“No!” The dickgirl refused, roughly pushing her against the mattress. “No one’s going to be on top of me!” She grunted, as their abdomens clashed, her cock was sandwiched between the puce labials.

“Rowdy and selfish, you are part man alright!” She screamed.

“What?” The Orsimer suddenly stopped.

“Slowly, bitch. I want to enjoy myself as well.” Aza’s brows crossed. “Now fuck me.”

“Like this?” Steel Heart shifted a bit, her glans slipped inside.

“Yeah, first slow.” Aza muttered, bending her knees and holding her companion by the hips.

“Oh-uh…” The Orc growled, feeling the human from the inside. The slippery heat was amazing.

“Then hard enough to make me scream, love.”

Borgakh explored the new feeling. She now knew why males couldn’t resist something as seemingly trivial as a little hole between a female’s legs. She jerked her hips faster and bolder, grunting and moaning. Aza scratched her hips, then lifted herself a bit up and suckled the impressive green tits.

“That’s a nice pair” the scarred woman noted, sucking and biting the dark green nipples.

“I can say the same about you.” the Orc replied, reaching for the ebony tits.

They gave each other a pleasant massage, the green woman now balls, well, cunt deep in the Redguard. Her pussy juices leaked out, slipping down her cock and into Aza’s burning cunt. 

“Does it feel like a man fucks you?” She asked, laying flat on her to show who’s boss.

“Mmm… better.” The Redguard laughed, slapping Borgakh’s ripe ass. 

They kissed, the round human teeth grinded against the sharp orcish. Their flat, muscular abdomens were now so sweaty, that they glided against each other instead of grinding. The furs under Aza were wet from both overflowing pussies.

“Ugh…! I’m going to come!” The chiefman’s daughter groaned, feeling her cock was throbbing and burning up. 

As much as the Redguard’s twat was irresistibly wet and welcoming, the Orc took the best of Borgakh. She quickly pulled out and inserted the tip into her mate’s unprotected asshole. Aza cried in surprise, the Orc brutally kept her in place, roaring in pleasure as her sperm filled the adventurer’s ass. This was the way of the Orcs: unless you were chief, you didn’t earn the privilege of cumming in a pussy. You had to swallow your pride or use the ass.

“Bitch!” Aza screamed in anger and humiliation.

“Is it the custom of Redguards to insult their mates?”

“Only those who do stupid shit.”

“Oh, there, there, princess…” Borgakh laughed, getting off her. She got between her sweaty, trembling thighs and proceeded to lick out all the come that was leaking out.

“Gross!” Aza muttered, bud didn’t push her away.

“It is custom that the woman eats the semen of her mate if they are not chief and one of his wives. No drop can go to waste.” Steel Heart wiped her lips, then rested exhausted next to her mate.

“I didn’t come.” Aza muttered offended. 

“Let me catch my breath and I’ll show you things Orcs can do with their fangs.” The yellow eyes flickered.

\---

Labyrinthian. In the past known as the city of Bromjunaar, an ancient capital of Skyrim under dragon rule. Now, a massive complex of ruins and underground tombs. A legend among adventurers and the last place many ventured to. Beneath the snow and rubble were countless bodies clad in various types of armor, still clutching their weapons and shields.

It was only natural Erik would venture into the fabled ruin one day. He was disappointed the only foes he fought were frost trolls and the occasional draugr. He took care of them with little effort, progressing through the ruins. 

He reached Shalidor’s Maze, a labyrinth build by the legendary mage. He had a map copied from a tome he once found on the body of a necromancer. So far, the map seemed reliable. Still, he realized how naive he was expecting fat loot. The ruins were explored and plundered by generations of bold adventurers before him. Most of the gear he found worthy came from the bodies of those, who weren’t fortunate to get out with their lives. He exited the labyrinth after several hours of fighting mediocre enemies and gathering his humble spoils.

He found his mare and headed towards a small circular building that seemed intact. Good, a roof over his head was exactly what he needed. At the entrance was a slain troll, a huge female. It seemed the beast was killed by an edged weapon, which ruled out other trolls. That was enough to make him cautious. He entered the ruin with his axe handy. 

Inside was what must have been some sort of spiritual shrine. There were tapestries and urns scattered around and an altar in the shape of a semicircle. The altar was the seat of nine busts that seemed to be lacking certain components. Helmets or masks, perhaps, but it was irrelevant at this point, as the hero noticed a shape sulking in the corner. It was a person, barely able to draw breath.

He approached with caution and turned the shape over with his boot. He knew that face. It was Mjoll. Quickly, he sheathed his axe and pressed his palm to the survivor’s neck. He felt a faint pulse, there was no time to waste. He picked the woman up and hauled back to his horse. With some luck, Morthal should be safe to come back to.

\---

The town was just like he remembered; damp and depressing. Thankfully, it seemed the residents were peacefully going on about their business. Mayhap it was because the vampires praying on them were no more. Yet, there was still the issue of the treasure that darkened the townsfolk’s hearts.

Mjoll was taken to Lami, the town’s alchemist. The Lioness was still unconscious whilst the woman was busy with the her wounds. 

“There’s nothing more you can do.” Lami said, gently washing the Lioness with a cloth dampened in a freshly smelling tonic. “I’ll take care of her. My shop is not an inn, but you can stay here” she allowed.

“I can pay…”

“Please” the alchemist shook her head. “I hadn’t forgotten what you and your other friend did for us.”

“Oh…” he remembered the unpleasant circumstances that made him and the Redguard bitch leave Morthal. “So, how did it all turn out?”

Mjoll started to cry in her sleep. It was awkward seeing that fresh, robust woman weep like a child.

“It’s nothing.” Lami explained, gently caressing Mjoll’s scarred cheek. “I gave her a potion that put her in deep sleep. She’ll recover faster, but I can’t do anything about her dreams. You ask how it all turned out…” Her voice was now a whisper. “We were fools. The piles of gold and trinkets made us blind, we slowly started distrusting our neighbors, even out own families… Blood was bound to be spilled soon… And suddenly, it all vanished. The gold coins, the gems, the beautiful armors and weapons. All gone overnight. All that was left was clay and stone.”

“Divines preserve us.” Erik said with amazement.

“I’m not sure whether it was the vampires’ plan all along; too offer us fake treasure and watch how we rip out throats out. Or maybe it was the Jarl and that Falion wizard…” She gazed out of the window over at the marshes. “Whatever it was, we’re safe now. We endured, there are some animosities left. I only hope the people of Morthal are now wiser…”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? You can’t protect us from greed and foolishness.” The woman smiled tiredly. Her hair was so blond, that it was almost white. “You are welcome here for a couple of days, free of charge. I’m not a cook, so you should get your food over at the inn. For now, I ask that you leave, as… Mjoll, was it? She needs rest.”

Erik left the quiet alchemy shop and wandered the town, mostly keeping to its outskirts. Soon, he was approached by a guard.

“Is there a problem?” He asked cautiously.

“The Jarl wishes to speak to you.” The guard replied.

“Am I arrested?”

“No. The Jarl wants to have a word with you.” The man was growing tired. “But I wouldn’t keep her waiting if I were you.”

“Alright, I’ll go to the longhouse right away.” Erik gave in.

He headed there immediately. Just like he remembered, Jarl Ravencrone had jet-black hair despite being an elder. Her hawk-like face was focused and alert, one would almost expect her to suddenly snap and bite.

“I see you’re still alive. And alone.”

“Nothing hides from you, my Jarl.” He replied, clenching his teeth.

“Don’t sweet talk to me, boy.” She scolded. “I offer my help, yet again. I am not doing this out of my own initiative. It’s the visions I’ve been blessed with, that are telling me to aid you.”

For a longer moment she was silent, scrutinizing the adventurer with her otherworldly ayes. Erik bravely endured her gaze.

“Go home.” The Jarl suddenly said. “That is all.” She waved him off, before he could say anything.

Dumbfounded, Erik left the longhouse. It was late in the evening, he should get back to Lami before she closes shop.

“She’s awake.” The alchemist greeted him downstairs, busy with a fresh batch of potions. “I think she needs company now.”

“I’ll go see her.” He replied, heading towards the stairs.

The room was filled with the smell of medicine. Mjoll rested comfortably on a simple bed, the sheets reaching all the way to her cleavage. Next to her bed was her sword, Grimsever. 

“So, it really was you who saved my life.” She said quietly, putting away an emptied bowl. Judging from the smell it must have been chicken soup. 

“You were almost a goner.” He said, pulling a chair next to the bed.

“Yes, it was one of the toughest fights of my life.” Mjoll admitted. She stared down at her bandaged forearms. Potions and salves Lami used did wonders, but the warrioress was still recovering. “Aerin…”

A few tears fell on the sheets, her athletic shoulders shook as sobs took over. Though it wasn’t any of his business, Erik felt compelled to do something. He pulled his arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer. The Lioness broke down crying full volume. He said nothing, words were just empty gestures at this point.

“He insisted I leave Riften. I… I agreed, that city didn’t need my help, but I was too stubborn to realize sooner. He wanted to come with me. I was reluctant, but he was stubborn as well… So we left together.” She whimpered, wetting his armored jacket. “We spend some time together. We did a few noble deeds, just like in my old days… There were rough times, but we pulled through. And…” She paused to blow her nose in a piece of cloth he offered. “Then I got the stupid idea to raid Labyrinthian. He… His…” She pulled herself together and looked Erik straight in the eye. “A troll alpha female, a huge one, bit his head off. If it weren’t for him, it would have been me.” She paused. She didn’t sob or weep anymore, last tears silently rolled down her cheeks.

“Mjoll…”

“I went berserk. Killed the matriarch, the rest scattered in all directions. I was wounded badly, but I managed to… take care of the body. I’d never let them eat what was left of him. I had only enough strength to crawl away to a quiet, roofed ruin. Then everything got blurry and I lost track of time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as much as I am. Aerin saved my life twice. He was always there for me, and all I did was treat him like a friend. He’s dead now, buried under rocks and ice.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know. But I’d feel better if it was. Because then I could blame someone.” She blew her nose. “I regret never sleeping with him. Can you imagine??” She snapped, her eyes opened wide. “He was the most important person in my life, but I kept him at a distance using the ‘friend’ excuse. I’m an idiot!” She groaned, then coughed. “I’m a dumb cunt.”

Erik bowed his head. He sympathized with her, but meaningless words were all he could offer.

“Thank you.” She said with sorrow. “I guess.”

“You’re welcome. I guess.”

“It’s just you now?”

“Yeah. She left me, using the ‘you don’t need me anymore’ excuse.” He jerked the corners of his mouth upward. “The wretch apparently knows best what’s good for me.”

“I…” The Lioness was about to comfort him, but changed her mind. “I need company tonight. Badly.”

“You sure?”

“Lami is a miracle worker. My bones are whole, my wounds closed up. I can’t strain myself, but…” She fell silent, seeing him undress. Gods, that was a fine body.

He slipped under the pleasantly soft sheets and helped her undress. The light was dim, but his hands liked what they touched. Her mouth was slightly bitter from the medicine, but eager. Her tongue encircled his, then grinded against his palate. She had small breasts with a slight sag. The skin was wonderfully soft, her nipples a bit thicker than normal. She sighed when she felt his teeth and tongue working them to full erection.

Erik reached down her flat stomach, feeling her pussy was covered in a rich, silky bush. He found her slit between the golden locks and stroked until the lips moistened and parted, allowing his fingers to slip inside her overheating vagina. He also poked her asshole, her cheeks squeezed hard in response. Her hairs soon got wet and sticky.

“That’s…!” She held her breath as his cock bumped against her leg.

“Mine. Relax, I got this.” He said patiently, working his fingers inside her pussy, loosening her up good. 

“I don’t want to wait anymore.” She bit her lip as two fingers slipped into her cunt.

“No problem. Just lay back and enjoy.”

Mjoll supported herself on her elbows, Erik got a firm grip on her hips and pulled down to meet with his hard penis. He didn’t expect her to moan so softly. She smoothly took the whole shaft in, pleased to be filled to the brim. He went easy on her, occasionally bending forward to taste her lips or bite her nipple. She rocked her hips, her pussy hungered for a man, it was a long time since someone fucked her this deep. She reached forward and held him in a tight clutch, almost crushing his ribs and scratching his back like a cat in heat. He knew well what that meant.

She came crying out a name. It wasn’t his, but he paid it no mind. The soles of her feet kicked his calves when the Lioness’ mind melted and slipped away. Erik gave her time to relish and regain her senses, before jerking-off until he came all over her abdomen. His semen streamed into her navel, some sunk into the golden bush.

They didn’t talk, it would only spoil the mood. He helped her clean herself up and get dressed, then let her rest. She fell asleep almost instantly. The bed was too small for the two of them, so he got down on a bedroll Lami provided. He made up his mind of what to do now.

In the morning he left quietly without disturbing Mjoll, insisted Lami accepts payment for housing him, and left Morthal, heading south, to Rorikstead.


	5. Homecoming

“Any news from your son?” Jouane asked, finishing his mulled mead. His age didn’t allow stronger drinks.

“No, not yet.” Mralki replied, sweeping the floor. “I got a letter from him a few months ago, but nothing new ever since.”

He sighed, putting the broom aside. In his letter Erik mentioned some dangerous assignment. Mralki feared the worst. Gods, he remembered his son as a babe crying, kicking and screaming, because he had no teat to suck on. His mother passed away too fast… And now he was somewhere, doing Gods only know what. He hoped he was safe and in one piece, but he knew he was fooling himself. The life of a wanderer was not an easy one.

As time flew by, he realized how overprotective he was. He regretted sheltering his boy for so long. His son was old enough to have a wife and child of his own! Mayhap if he’d been more lenient, Erik would grow up less curious and adventurous. But there was no point in torturing himself with all the possibilities. His son was old enough to make his own decisions.

“I’m sure he’s okay.” The elderly Breton comforted.

“Or” Lemkil, the most sordid man in the village, cut in. “That crazy woman you let him go with finally got tired of the oaf, cut his throat and dumped the body in a ditch.”

“Nonsense!” The innkeeper snapped. “You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Whatever. Was done talking anyway.” Lemkil grunted, shoving his cup aside. He left the inn bumbling and muttering.

“Sometimes I think he’s the cruelest man in all of Skyrim.” Jouane said with a frown. “My heart goes out to his girls.”

Mralki nodded. Lemkil’s wife died giving birth to his twin daughters. The man never recovered after that loss. It seemed he focused all his grief and anger on his children, and went to any lengths to make their lives miserable. The innkeeper and Jouane helped those poor girls as best as they could. Still, there was nothing they could do about their father.

“I managed to feed them some good stew the other day.” Mralki said, wiping his hands in his apron.

“Divines bless your kind heart.” The Breton smiled. “I’ll try to get them some nice dresses once I’m in Whiterun. They grew out of all their clothes, the sleeves barely cover their forearms.”

“I could give you some money.”

“Nonsense, you have a business to run. The money Rorik pays for my service is more than I can spend. I am too old for excessive drinking or the affection of wenches, so I’d rather do something kind for Britte and Sissel.”

The door swung open, letting in the chill of the rainy night. A man entered, kicking the door behind. He was soaked and weary, his armor and weapon were black. Mralki semiconsciously reached for a mace hidden under the counter.

“We have room and food, but you got to pay up front. No handouts or bartering. Your weapon stays on the rack.” He said sternly. He didn’t like that big axe the stranger was carrying. “If your horse needs food I got that too.” He added, hearing neighing from outside.

The stranger stepped into the light. The innkeeper’s hands went numb, the mace he was clutching under the counter slipped from his fingers and hit the floor.

“Erik!”

“Hi, pa.”

Mralki rushed from his spot and took his son in his arms. Did Erik grow taller in all those months? His shoulders certainly were wider.

“What happened to your face?” Just as expected, this was his father’s first question.

“It’s nothing. You should see the other guy.” Erik laughed. It came so naturally to him, Mralki shrugged. “It’s good to see you, Jouane.”

“Likewise.” The Breton sensed he should leave. “It’s late. Goodnight to you two, I’m sure you have a lot of catching up.”

As they were left alone, both felt awkward. There were so many things they wanted to say to each other, but didn’t know how.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” The father broke the silence.

“There were rough moments, but I’m good, pa.”

“So… you’re hungry?” He asked, patting his son’s shoulder.

“Terribly. And I hadn’t slept in a real bed for days.” Erik confessed embarrassed.

“Good. I got roasted lamb. But, Erik” the innkeeper raised his brow. “I’m not providing for you anymore. Let’s see some coin.”

His son handed over a coinpurse without a word of protest. Mralki was astonished by its weight.

“How did you get all that?”

“Here and there. Some I got from selling things. Some I looted from ruins. Some was on fools that tried to rob me…” Erik confessed with a sigh. The roads were dangerous in times of war.

He was served a beautifully glazed roast along with bread and mead. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this hungry. Mralki let his son eat in peace, realizing how he had changed. He stopped slouching and held his head high. His movement was less sluggish, more precise. He seemed relaxed, and at the same time alert. The absent-minded pup was gone.

“What?” Erik asked, noticing his father’s gaze. “I got something on my face?”

“It’s just sinking into me. You’re not a lad anymore, son… I’m proud of you.”

“I… Thank you, pa. It means a lot to me.” He said dumbfounded. He’d never suspect his father would say something like that. And now that he did, Erik realized how much he wanted, needed to hear those words.

“You’re not staying.” Mralki stated instead of asking.

“No. I wanted to visit, and here I am. And I will visit in the future. But I’m not going to settle down yet.”

“I understand.” Pa nodded, showing no surprise. “So, what have you been up to?”

They talked for hours. Mralki didn’t ask about Aza, for what Erik was grateful. He shared some stories, omitting the grimmer and unbelievable parts like dragons and ancient evil.

“And the Argonian?” Father asked intrigued.

“Went back to Darkwater Crossing. But that Falmer was less lucky.” Erik finished his tale, then yawned.

“It’s late, son. We have a lot of time to talk. Your room is just like you left it, though I was tempted to turn it into a storeroom. You should go get some rest.”

“I will. I’ll see you in the morning, pa. Goodnight.”

\---

Nothing changed in his room, and yet Erik felt strange. As if a permanent place to stay lost all its appeal. He would much more like a one night stay in an unremarkable inn, or camp in the wild. The familiar shapes annoyed him. He couldn’t sleep, his bed seemed to creak more than he remembered. There were his old commoner clothes folded on the chair, but they were too tight now.

His room seemed so juvenile. The bed was too small, the moldy old books he used to adore, now seemed so ridiculous. His childhood treasures lost all their magic. Father should turn this room into storage space. Ah, but Mralki would never do that. He’d never erase his son’s extended childhood just like that.

He was happy to see pa again. Moreover, he was relieved Mralki did not patronize him and treated like a man. The moment he said he was proud of him, Erik felt joy and peace he hadn’t felt in a long time. Perhaps because of his independence, their bond gained new strength.

His eyelids finally became heavy. Sleep overcame him in a second. He dreamed his old childhood memory. And yet, it was different. There he was, a toddler peeping at a Redguard woman taking a wash. He could see her, the first woman he saw naked. But she wasn’t facing him, he could only see her back. Her hair was shorter, her skin had a warmer tone. She unhurriedly washed her back and shoulders, soapy water dripped down her glistening skin. The rough sponge brushed her thoroughly, leaving slippery foam. In the candlelight he could see her skin shine with healthy radiance. Her moves were relaxed, she enjoyed every moment of her special privacy time. 

Finally, she reached for a bucket of cold water and poured it all over herself. She cried, then laughed as cold water soaked her hair and washed off all the remaining foam. She stood up from the stool and reached for a towel. Humming a tune, she dried her hair, turning around with a pirouette. Erik couldn’t see her face yet, only her figure. The details didn’t match what he remembered. The woman was younger and much taller. Her hips were wider, so were her shoulders. 

She finished drying her hair and shook her head, the towel rested on her shoulders like a scarf. Gods, it was Aza. But… different. Erik vaguely knew it was how she would look like if she hadn’t lost her family. Her both eyes were dark green, the few small cuts she had on her face were gone. So were the scars marking her whole body. Only the c-section scar remained, reaching from her navel to her womb. Her figure was less athletic; her stomach was soft and rounded, her waist thicker. Still, her arms and legs, though not as muscular, were by no means feeble. Her breasts had a slight sag, as if worn out by nursing more than just one child. 

She noticed him. His heart stopped. In his sleep he moaned and rolled on his back. She laughed, bending a bit forward. He noticed her womb was covered by a thick, soft bush that steadily dripped water. In reality, she would never allow that.

“You lost, little cub?” She asked, smiling. The rows the real Aza had on her forehead were smoothened. Instead, the dream-Aza had wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and mouth, no doubt from laughing.

He hesitated, his tiny hand clenched the doorframe. Though he wanted to say something, words couldn’t form in his mouth. He was a toddler, after all.

“Come on, I won’t bite.” She smiled, offering her hand. 

He took a step forward and reached out his plump arm. The moment he crossed the doorstep, he went through the floor and fell into pitch-black nothingness.

“Gah!” He gasped, waking up. His back was soaked with sweat.

It was just a dream, this was the good part. The bad one was that he hadn’t dreamed of her ever since Markarth. He had a faint certainty this wasn’t the last dream of the Redguard harlot he will be having.

He wasn’t sleepy anymore, so he decided to do something about it. He loosened his pants, and just like he used to, masturbated in the privacy of his room. A while later, with semen on his abdomen and chest, he whispered a curse and slipped back into uneasy sleep.

\---

“No, you bitch! Nooo!” Aza protested, but Borgakh held her firmly by the wrists.

“It is the way of the Orcs! Don’t fight it!” She grunted, slapping her mate’s dark asscheeks.

“Damn it, not in the ass again! Come in my pussy, you damned cow!” The adventurer pleaded, embarrassed by her own eagerness.

“I’m not even sure if my seed can impregnate you!”

“Then in my mouth!!”

“Fine!” The Orc agreed, releasing her.

Aza got off Borgakh’s laps and dropped onto her knees. She firmly gripped Steel Heart’s throbbing shaft and stroked it fast, licking the tip with her flattened tongue, just like the green-skinned woman liked.

“It’s going to be a big load…!” Borgakh warned.

“I can take it.” Aza promised, reaching down and stroking herself on the clit. “I want you to fill my mouth.”

Suddenly, the Orc grabbed her head, and forced down. Thankfully, Aza was an expert when it came to deep-throating. She squeezed her cheeks and throat just as Steel Heart was about to climax. The chiefman’s daughter grunted savagely, as her abdomen convulsed and her cock ejaculated with brute intensity. Aza worked hard to swallow every drop. Still, some slipped from her mouth. 

“I knew you’d get me all clammy.” The Orc sighed.

“Relax, I got this.”

She thoroughly licked Borgakh, cleaning her cock and abdomen from the creamy seed. Orcish cum always had a deep bitter undertone.

“Alright, alright, I’m clean now.” Borgakh said, brushing her mate’s hair back. “Your turn.”

Aza squirmed and moaned as the Orc showed her what she could do with her fangs and long tongue. The spacing between orcish fangs was perfect for keeping the labials out of the way. 

“Do you want my fingers inside?” Steel Heart asked, scratching Aza’s inner thighs. Thankfully, her usually sharp nails were now blunt.

“Yeees!” The Redguard muttered helplessly.

“You ask so nicely, you’ll get two!”

“Oh fuck…!” The Redguard melted, feeling rough fingers working inside her pussy. “Bend them a bit, yesss, just like that…!” A thin stream of saliva escaped her mouth when Borgakh’s fingertips found that small, sensitive spot inside her cunt.

She rocked her hips faster and faster, feeling her womb heat up. When she climaxed, she almost did a split. Steel Heart eagerly licked her pussy, then quickly stuffed her tongue inside, the Redguard’s hole tightly squeezed around her.

“Ah… I enjoy your company more than you know.” The Orsimer said pleased, wiping her mouth.

“So do I.”

The two took a moment to cool down, listening in on any activity in the pine woods. They didn’t hear anything alarming, the night was quiet and peaceful. 

“I get the feeling now’s the time you tell me it’s over.” Aza heaved a sigh.

“Yes…” Borgakh’s thoughts drifted away. “It’s time I return to the stronghold. I wanted to part with you sooner… but you kept luring me back with your lustful offers. Regardless, my duty towards my people comes first. We’ll reach Falkreath soon, that’s where we’ll say our goodbyes. I must go back to Mor Khazgur. I will ask the Wise Woman for advice and beg Malacath for forgiveness. He does not forgive easily, but I will withstand his anger and accept any punishment.”

“Okay. If that’s what you really want, I won’t stop you.”

Borgakh got up from their makeshift bed and fumbled for something in her bag. Aza observed her partner’s firm ass with a nostalgic smile. Too bad, she hadn’t had enough of the Orc yet.

“Here.” Borgakh said, handing her a round object. She was looking away as if embarrassed. “A gift.”

“Damn, when did you get a hold of this?” Aza asked, accepting the item. It was a fine jade circlet with emeralds.

“I bought it from those Khajiit traders we passed on our way to Eastmarch. Don’t say anything more, just take it.”

They hadn’t slept nor talked until sunrise. Neither of them wanted a commitment, and yet they regretted they had to part. Falkreath was just a few days of walk away.

\---

“Gleda!” Ennis cried, pulling his arms towards his prized goat. “I can’t believe you got her back safe and sound!”

“No problem.” Erik sighed, rubbing his blackened eye. “Though that giant was less fortunate…”

“You killed a giant to get my goat back??” The farmer was speechless.

“He was old and ill, so it wasn’t that hard. Still, I wouldn’t recommend fighting any giants.” The hero was about to leave.

“Wait!” Ennis stopped him mid-track. “You risked your life to get Gleda back, even though I didn’t ask you to.”

“No, but I overheard your conversation with my father this morning, and I thought I’d try to help.”

“And you surely deserve a reward. I have no money…” the man confessed embarrassed, but suddenly his face lit up. “But I have this!” He said, taking off an amulet he was wearing under his shirt. “Please, take it. I hope it brings you luck.”

“Thanks.” Erik said, accepting the gift. It was an amulet of the goddess Kynareth. Just by holding it, he felt fresh and rejuvenated. “I should really get going now.”

He passed the plot, heading towards the inn. He caught a glimpse of the shed in the back courtyard. He shrugged, remembering the intense night he… they spent there. The night he saw her in all her shameless glory and felt her warm, welcoming mouth. He looked away before he could break down and admit he missed her.

“Hey, Erik!” He heard a voice.

“Sissel, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

The girl had grown, her modest commoner clothes were obviously too small for her. As usual, she had bruises on her forearms, bud didn’t seem to mind.

“So, did you do a lot of adventuring?” She asked, her eyes were wide open. Her dirty cheeks bloomed.

“More than I could handle.” He replied, rubbing his scar. “I even saw a dragon.”

“Really?!” Sissel jumped. “What did it look like?”

“It was big and gray, but wasn’t scary. Just like you said.”

“Just like in my dream!” She almost burst into happy tears. “What else?”

“Its breath smelled.” Erik confessed, remembering how Paarthurnax grabbed him in his jaws to save from Alduin’s teeth.

“Da says you ran away from honest work with some crazy woman.” Britte said, appearing out of nowhere.

“Crazier than you can imagine.” He agreed, looking away. His eyes set on the infamous shed again.

“Why are you alone, then?” Sissel inquired.

“Because I don’t need a nanny.” He quickly replied, getting a grip of himself.

“Unlike Sissel!” Britte grinned cruelly, pushing her sister into the dirt. She spun around and ran up the road.

Sissel got up and pressed her fists to her mouth. She was on the verge of crying.

“She wants to see your tears.” Erik said calmly. “Go after her. You can fend for yourself, can you?”

“Sure I can!” Sissel snapped. “I know magic and everything! I can even make light in a dark room! And one day I’ll show everyone I’m not a wimp!!”

“Then go get her.”

“Just you watch!” The child wiped her grazed hands in her skirt and went after her sister. Erik sighed and entered the inn, just as the sun set over the plains.

“You’re not wasting time.” Mralki noted the blackened eye, going about his daily routine.

“No. Sitting around makes me… jumpy.”

“You can always help me with choirs.”

They stared at each other, then burst into laughter.

“I’m glad you’re in a splendid mood, pa.”

“That I am, Erik. Things are going smooth for me. Now, there’s something I wanted to tell you…” Mralki looked over his shoulder; the few patrons were dining too far to eavesdrop. “Listen… I know I did you a lot of harm by sheltering you for so long…”

“Pa, you really needn’t say anything…” Erik felt awkward. 

“No, please, let me finish. I’m happy you’re your own man now. I won’t stop you when you feel you want to leave Rorikstead again.” The man rubbed his balding head. “I hoped to have grandchildren one day… But I’m not putting any pressure on you… I just want you to know, that when you decide to come back home and settle down, I’ll gladly welcome you and… Well, I’m not going to live forever. When I join our ancestors, the inn is yours. If you meet a level-headed person who will help you run the business, I will die a happy man.”

He bit his tongue, seeing his son tremble. Erik turned around, resting his palms on the counter, his nails sunk into the woodwork. He tried to breathe calmly, but it was loud and irregular. 

“She left me.” He finally said, reaching for a bottle of ale under the counter. “She never gave me any illusions, and I was an idiot that I hadn’t seen it coming.” He chugged it all down. “But, still… I don’t know what to tell you, pa. I hoped I wasn’t just along for the ride, that it will be something permanent. I guess I’m still a bit naive. Funny thing is, she did it ‘for my own good’, would you believe that?”

“Erik…” Mralki sympathized, but didn’t know what to say. His son was always shy around women, so they never had this sort of talk.

“You were right. Women are devious creatures.” The bottle slammed against the wood. “I’m going upstairs, it’s best I try get some sleep early before I do or say something stupid.”

He left, avoiding looking him in the eye. Mralki forgot to tell him he didn’t pay for the drink.

\---

He shouldn’t think of her so intensely. After all, there were other women he bedded. Aside from Mjoll, there was Gilfre, a mill owner. Erdi, a charming young servant working in the Blue Palace. Julienne, a fascinating half-Redguard half-Breton commoner in Dragon’s Bridge… He also had a few offers, but declined either of respect or simply because the woman in question wasn’t his type. Like the witch Illia, or Dravynea, a creepy Dunmer living in Kynesgrove.

And yet, his thoughts always drifted back to the cynical Redguard vagabond. Anger and longing constantly washed over him. Although he made no effort to find her, he hoped that the next inn, the next forgotten ruin will be the place where they coincidentally meet. He had a whole speech prepared specially for that occasion. 

He laid in bed, embarrassed by what he was doing. He masturbated until it hurt, as if he took a major step back, and was a horny teenager again. But he couldn’t stop, his frustration needed to vent. His greased palm moved up and down his painfully hard cock, his glans was red and glistening in the dim light. He fought his imagination as best as he could, but it stubbornly made him remember her pleasantly smooth skin with the occasional rough scar, the touch of her thick, straight jet-black hair, and the dirty things she whispered into his ear…

_“Yeah, like that… No, no, no, to the left, idiot… Oh, damn just like that…!”_

_“Watch the teeth! No, wait, bite me. Mmm…”_

_“Slip your tongue inside… Gods, you do have a hidden talent!”_

_“Want me to swallow? No? Come on my tits, then.”_

_“Inside, come inside. I want to feel you melt in my womb.”_

“I hate you so damned much…!” He grunted, jerking faster, focusing on his throbbing tip. Sperm shot agonizingly intensely from his grip, staining his hairs and palm. He fought for air, groaning as rage almost choked him. He felt little pleasure, only temporary relief. And despite laying in bed for hours, working his cock every once in a while, he wasn’t sleepy at all.

The air in his room was stuffy, he needed to catch a breath of fresh air. He wiped himself dry and flung his clothes on. His boots muffled his every step, as he snuck out of the inn without alarming anyone.

The night was quiet and warm, not a cloud in the sky, the moons were shining like gemstones. He trotted a bit in place, before deciding which way to go. Ha casually crossed the main road, heading towards the back of the hamlet, to the point where the path climbed up the hills. From there, he stared down at his homevillage. Smoking chimneys, animals sleeping in their pens, the vast plains of Whiterun… This view once filled him with profound hopelessness. Now, because he wasn’t part of the landscape anymore, it made him nostalgic. And that meant one thing: it was time to pack up and get going. 

He heard a cry. He listened in for a longer moment. No, it wasn’t a cat, it was a child. He looked over the edge of the cliff. The night was bright, he saw a small shadow hiding between a barn and the foot of the hill, sulking and crying. He quickly went back with a very bad feeling.

He was just a few steps from where the shadow was sobbing. The mooing of the cattle covered the whimpering, but he also heard angry curses. It seemed he wasn’t the only one searching for the little runaway.

“There you are!” He heard a drunken voice. He had no troubles identifying it as Lemkil’s.

“No! Leave me alone, da, I don’t want to go!” The other voice was Sissel’s.

There was a curse, then a yowl. Erik increased his pace. What he saw just over the corner, made his insides clench. Sissel was desperately trying to melt with the stones behind her, her dress was in shreds, she was also barefoot. Her nose was bleeding, her cheek had a fresh mark. It came from her father’s heavy stick. Lemkil was barely able to stand. He was shirtless, his pants were loose, almost slipping from his arse. He looked over his shoulder, noticing they weren’t alone. His face expressed pure contempt.

“Oh, it’s you. The little hero. This is none of your business! Get lost!” He mumbled, raising his hand to hit his daughter again. Sissel curled up in a ball, helplessly whimpering.

Erik took a step forward and sharply pulled the stick’s other end. Outrage and hatred flooded his mind, then suddenly ceased, making room for cold, clear determination. He snapped into his less pleasant self, the Slayer.

“You sick son of a bitch.” He said quietly.

“You don’t get to judge me, you oaf!” Lemkil turned around and spat on Erik’s boots. “They’re my daughters and I get to do with them whatever I damned please! They owe me for all my hard work, I feed them and give them a home to stay. And all they do is eat and sleep, they might as well make themselves useful to me!”

Erik sharply pulled the stick, almost toppling Lemkil over. The man supported himself on the barn’s wall, sweat dripped down his chin. The stick was thrown far away.

“What, you want to play hero? Come on, your father apparently forgot how to slap a disobedient brat like you, I’ll do it for him!” He gnashed his irregular teeth.

Quick footsteps followed, then sharply stopped just behind Erik’s back.

“Britte?” Erik asked calmly, maintaining eye contact with Lemkil.”

“I’m here.” He heard the child’s voice. A voice that tried as best as it could to keep from crying or screaming.

“Take your sister and go home. Lock the door and wait, someone will pick you up.”

There was silence, Britte was a difficult one.

“Britte, he won’t hurt you. Go take your sister.” Erik tried again.

“Okay.” The girl said after a moment of pause. She made a step forward.

“I’m your father, you listen to me!” Lemkil yelled, Britte immediately retreated.

“You’re a coward, Brit.” There was a quiet voice. Sissel regained control of herself and stood up. She quickly sprinted towards her sister, grabbed her hand and the two fled.

“You ungrateful brats!” Their father roared in drunken rage. “Just wait until I…!”

A punch in the face knocked him on the ground. A sharp kick in the kidney forced him to roll to the side, just where Sissel was hiding a moment ago. Erik cracked his knuckles, approaching Lemkil.

“Don’t you judge me! Don’t you…!” Lemkil spat blood and saliva, staring at Erik with pure hatred.

“It’s not up to me to judge anyone.” He replied indifferently. “But I’ll be damned if I let you leave in one piece.”

Calmly and methodically, he kicked, punched and headbutted until Lemkil stopped breathing. Then, he took a deep breath, shook his head and patiently waited until someone, alarmed by all the noise, would finally come. 

\---

“So much trouble because of one little trinket.” Aza took Hircine’s ring, now free from the curse, into her hands and examined from different angles.

She was resting comfortably against a large werewolf’s side. The beast’s fur was light, almost golden. It turned its massive head and licked her bare ribcage, where a fresh cut just stopped bleeding. It was his claws handiwork, a small scar was inevitable.

“Yeah, you should be sorry, you ass.” She scolded, slapping his muzzle. “Battlescars I have in abundance. Now, a lovescar, that’s something new to me.” 

The werewolf grunted, snapping his jaw. His tongue curled lustfully. He quickly turned her over and pinned to the ground, his blood-shot eyes stared into hers. Aza yelped, feeling pebbles painfully sinking into her back and ass, but bravely stared back. She fought dragons, for Gods’ sake!

“Shouldn’t have taken off your armor, then.” He grunted ferociously.

“You’re going to talk, or work me a little bit more?” She asked with a sneer. Sinding, the werewolf, was a mate she never had before.

His sleek, purple member slipped between her wet, slippery thighs. Her legs were soaked in the beast’s thick semen. Aza muttered a curse, arching her back. This was crazy, borderline sick. She once met a temple harlot that lusted for large predatory felines, and as hard as she could, she couldn’t understand the harlot’s fascination with animals. She also never felt attraction towards Khajiit or Argonians. A werewolf, however, wasn’t a mindless beast, and she thought she’d give it a try. She had no regrets so far.

She stumbled upon Sinding in Falkreath, where she parted with Borgakh. The werewolf’s case was gruesome and involved a child’s murder. It quickly turned out the cause of the whole grim mess was a cursed ring, with which the Redguard was later entrusted. In the end, she helped Sinding defeat a group of Hircine’s hunters, and refused to kill him herself, openly defying the Lord of the Hunt’s will. She would never murder and skin a man to pleasure a Daedra, she considered herself better than that. She also simply pitied Sinding. Eventually, Hircine was pleased and the curse lifted from the ring. The Daedra didn’t care who the prey was, the slain hunters entirely satisfied his lust for blood.

Sinding’s sharply pointed cock slid between her labials with little difficulty. Aza sunk her hands into his thick fur, the werewolf picked her up and wildly tossed in the air, jerking his hips faster and rougher. A serenade of curses and moans flew across Bloated Man’s Grotto.

“I’ll have you know I have the mind of a man, but a beast’s fortitude.” He said with a grin on his bestial muzzle. “This will be a long night for you.”

“Just don’t eat me once you’re done and we’re good.” She gasped.

“I’m not a monster.” He howled, ejaculating. 

The amount and pressure was incredible, Aza could have sworn that some shot pass her cervix and streamed straight into her uterus. She cried, her clit brushed against his rough fur hard enough to make her come as well. Sinding bit into her neck. Thankfully, he was mindful not to hurt her. Aza tensed, then went numb in his grasp. He released her, the woman rested on the ground in a puddle of cum. She was shaking and semi-conscious, but she knew this was just the beginning. She was grateful Redguards could regain their stamina faster than most races. She braced herself for a literally wild night.

Hours later, once Sinding was finally done with her, he let her catch some sleep on the bed of ferns. The next morning, Aza bathed in a cold stream, her muscles were hurting all over. Her mate brought her a deer he had hunted. As she baked it over a bonfire, he finally went back into his human form. It was hard to believe the unassuming man with receding hair was a Moonbeast.

“I want you to keep the ring.” He said, taking a large portion of venison and devouring it in mere seconds.

“I’m not a werewolf, I’ll gain nothing from it. Besides, you left me a nice scar to remember you by.” Aza replied, trying to adjust to a less painful position.

“I don’t want it either.” The man replied. The Redguard knew he was thinking about the child he murdered in a frenzy. “I decided to stay in the wild, I’m too dangerous to live among people.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I agree.” She nodded. 

She knew Sinding wasn’t himself, and it was the cursed ring that made him lose his mind. Still, she didn’t believe he could integrate back into society. One of the reasons she spared his life was that it was painfully obvious how he was suffering from guilt. A man’s conscience was his worst tormenter. 

“I’m glad you didn’t kill me. I wasn’t sure if letting me live was a good decision, but I made up my mind on what to do now. I’ll keep a low profile for awhile. Once it’s safe enough to leave this place, I’ll go on a hunt.”

“Hunt?” She asked cautiously.

“Yes. A grand hunt.” He smiled, brushing his blond hair back. “I won’t waste this chance. There are others out there like me. Others, that wouldn’t regret killing an innocent child just to satisfy their instincts. I’ll find them.” His eyes had a cold, steady gleam. “And rid the face of Nirn from them.”

“A cause as good as any.” Aza approved, chewing on the juicy meat.

She said her goodbye and left Sinding with a sigh of relief. He was incredibly intense, but she doubted she could keep up with his pace for longer than one night. She headed east to find more fame, fortune and adventure. At least until the money and booze run out.

\---

“What?” She muttered when her mare shook her head and turned left. “Oh, no!” She threw the bottle behind and held the reins firmly. “We’re not going to Rorikstead, honey! We’re…!”

She quickly consulted the map she had imprinted in her head. If she doesn’t pass Rorikstead, she’ll be forced to ride into the Reach. There were reports of increased Forsworn activity in the area. She was tired, still strained form playing with the werewolf. She was also a bit drunk, obviously in no condition to fight. The mare was sober, and that was the only good news.

The horse dug her hoof in the soft soil.

“Fine!” Aza sighed. “You’re in charge now. Just get me wherever I can get a good drink and soft bed.”

She rested her head on the horse’s neck and took a short nap… which lasted until it got dark. She woke up at the sound of happy neighing and nickering. She raised her head, looking straight at the all too familiar bay mare. Erik’s horse.

“Aww, shit!” She gurgled, sliding off the saddle. With a cry, she fell to the ground. The two mares completely ignored her, busy with their greeting ritual.

The pen was next to the entrance of Frostfruit Inn. The door opened, letting out a beam of light. Two men walked outside.

“I don’t know what to do, Jouane.” It was Mralki, his voice drowned in sorrow. “It’s my boy we’re talking about, not some drunken thug. He did the right thing!”

“I know, Mralki.” The man named Jouane replied. “And everyone who has their heart at the right side would do the same in his place. But Whiterun falls under the law of the Empire. I’m sure he gets a fair trial.”

“Trial! He’s not a criminal! He’s…!”

Now did the two men notice a paint mare happily brushing her neck against the bay one’s. Behind her emerged a figure. As it stepped into the light, Mralki recognized the Redguard wretch he entrusted her son with.

“What the fuck did he do?” She asked, now completely sober.


	6. Favors

“Adrianne?” Ulfberth peeped out of the shop hearing loud clanking over at his wife’s forge. “Are you upset about something?” He asked, seeing how red her cheeks were under the layer or grim.

“Of course I am!” The woman slammed her hammer exceptionally hard, making a dent in a shield she was forging.

“What’s bothering you?” He asked concerned. 

“What else? The talk of the town!” She said, throwing the damaged shield into the scorching forge.

They both turned their heads to stare up at Dragonsreach. The whole city was talking about the man imprisoned in the Jarl’s dungeon. Some called him a hero and demanded his release, some considered him a common criminal.

“I always believed in the law.” Adrianne confessed, mincing her blacksmith apron. “My father taught me that the law is what separates us from savages, and that it is designed to protect the weak and helpless. But… this is just wrong.”

“I understand you’re conflicted.” Her husband put his heavy palm on her shoulder. “But it’s not up to us to decide. But if it were…” He sighed.

“If it were up to people like us, there would be no need for rulers. Let’s just drop the subject.”

Furious, she took a red-hot rod out of the forge with a pair of thongs, and started hammering it with force. 

\---

“A man does something so… unspeakable to his own flesh and blood, and get’s just what he deserves. But the man who serves him justice is labeled a murderer?!” Carlotta Valentia’s voice was full of outrage. Despite being an Imperial, she was also a single mother of a little girl. “If someone would hurt my Mila…!” She helplessly shook her fist. 

“I know what you mean.” Saffir agreed, she also had a young daughter. “I love my Amren, but if he’d do something so sick to our Braith… I’d kill him. Right on the spot, I’d tear the soul from his chest.” The Redguard woman’s jaws clenched. “Do you know what would happen to a bastard like that on Hammerfell?” She asked with a gleam in her eye.

“You needn’t give me details, I’m sure it’s something adequate.” Carlotta said. “I wonder what will they do to that young man? The Jarl is in a tight spot.”

“This is when the law backfires at you.” Saffir said gravely.

“My mother” Olfina Gray-Mane joined the conversation, “says, that in her day, something so ridiculous as arresting him would never happen. I mean” she leaned forward, her cleavage was shamelessly exposed, but she didn’t notice, “if I was in his place, I’d tear that bastard into shreds!”

“I know him.” There was a quiet voice.

The three women turned to look at Ysolda, who was slowly walking down the steps from the upper district. They nodded, encouraging her to say something more.

Ysolda rubbed her palms, remembering the incident in Nightcaller Temple. She had a few lovers since being deflowered by the young adventurer, but they lacked his… initiative. And his massive cock. As much as it was a one night stand, she wouldn’t mind bedding him again.

“Well, you can’t expect us to stand quiet like this. Tell us more!” Saffir demanded.

“There’s not much to say.” Ysolda was reluctant to share. “But he’s not a brutish oaf.” She said with confidence. “It’s a crime he’s rotting in jail for what every sensible person would do!”

The four women expressed their approval, then went about their daily routines.

\---

“Milk-drinkers, all of them!” Aela shouted, chugging her mead, some streamed down her cleavage. “Spineless bastards, too afraid to do what their hearts tell them!” Her voice sunk into a feral roar.

“Mhm.” Farkas muttered, busy with his food. He never liked to partake in someone’s rant.

Aela threw her tankard at him, but the warrior dodged the projectile. She always did that when she was enraged and powerless, he got used to it.

“You’re not going to say anything? Anything at all?” Her eyes burned. “Damn, why am I even asking, you can’t form a straight sentence without your brother whispering into your ear.” She bit her tongue too late.

Farkas reached for a goat leg and gave his Shield-Sister a bold look. He wasn’t angry at what she said, they’ve all been through a very difficult time. They lost Skjor, then Kodlak, the future of the Companions was uncertain. The worst thing they could do now, was fight each other.

“Want to know what I really think?” He asked slowly.

“Hit me.”

“If I had a kid, and some bastard would as much as look at it the wrong way, I’d rip his limbs off one by one with my bare hands. Then, I would split his belly open and start eating him. And I wouldn’t bother with waiting for him to die first.” He snapped the bone in half and sucked the marrow out. “And I’d be damned if I’d let some pansy jail keep me prisoner.”

Aela stared at him with respect. He was difficult to anger, but once something got to him, he was slow to cool down. Mayhap it was time she pays him a visit, after neglecting him for so long? His twin was busy with Ria, from what she remembered. Strangely, they spent a lot of time together…

\---

“Please, not inside!” Ria’s begged.

“Why not, you always love it.” Vilas pushed harder, pulling the rope sharply.

Ria’s back arched in response. She wiggled, whimpering like a wounded critter, but the ropes around her ankles, wrists and under her arms efficiently immobilized her. The position was complicated. The ropes were thankfully soft, her Master showed clemency tonight. 

He spent weeks planning this session. After giving her the usual routine involving humiliation, abuse and the occasional caress, he tied her ankles crosswise of his bed, so that Ria did the split, facing the mattress. Then, he tied her hands behind her back in an elaborate knot, with her arms firmly pressed to her ribcage. He pulled another piece of rope under her arms and slipped the end into an iron ring he had under the ceiling. Whenever he needed, he’d pull the rope, bending her back until she could see him upside-down.

With pleasure, he interjectionally abused her asshole and pussy, using her throat to clean his cock before changing holes. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth grazed, but the wetness and looseness of her cunt showed how much she enjoyed it. An additional torture was that she couldn’t scream or cry full-volume, because they were in his room in the living quarters. But the muffled, quiet sobs and moans she released were as much rewarding. 

“No, you can’t!” She protested when he didn’t pull out.

“What was that, bitch?” He grunted angered. He was the one in control! He grabbed her tit, painfully twisting the nipple.

“No, no, I’m sorry Master!” She cried conflicted. “But please, don’t come inside my pussy! It’s not safe for me!”

“You’ll manage.” He whispered into her ear, his breath was hot and heavy, he was almost there.

“Mercy!” Her voice was weak and pathetic, a sign she was about to come as well. “Use my ass, my throat, but not there!”

“Shut up.”

“You’ll get me pregnant!” She disobeyed, sensing he’ll slap or otherwise punish her.

“The safety word.” He murmured instead. “Say it, and I’ll stop. Hurry up, I’m almost there…”

She felt it, his shaft got hotter and more vascular, her walls clenched with anxiety. She could say the word and end it now, but didn’t want to. It was just one word, ‘Wuuthrad’, easy to pronounce, impossible to forget or mix up. But she wanted him to keep going, despite the consequences. Her addiction was hopeless.

“Ah… I… Please, don’t hurt me…” She cried defeated.

“I’m coming.” His soft whisper was like a blow with a fist.

Vilkas released the rope; Ria lost support and fell face-down on the mattress. She screamed in the soft sheets, as her Master grabbed her ass and rammed his member to the limits, right at her cervix. He groaned, almost animal like, cumming in her pussy with his usual quantity and pressure. In a wild spasm, her ass pushed back. He gasped in pain, slapping her cheeks, but didn’t retreat. He kept ejaculating, now enjoying her fast clenching and loosening. 

“Enjoy it, slut.” He laughed, falling on her with all his weight. He waited for her to calm down, then reluctantly pulled out with a moist sound.

Ria wept, with him her orgasms always had a bitter undertone. Gods, she knew his sperm was strong, what’s she going to do now?! Arcadia’s shop was closed, the alchemist was away for a few days. Long enough for anything she could sell not to work. 

“Squeeze and hold it in. You’re not getting my bed dirty.” He warned, untying her.

“How could you…!” She cried, rolling on her back. All over her chest were markings from the rope.

“You had a choice, but did nothing.” He refuted. “Don’t blame me, I never leave you without an option.”

She hadn’t said anything, laying passively, clenching her muscles to keep his seed in. He went across the room, grabbed a bottle and a towel which he pushed under her ass. She cooed, relaxing; a flood of thick cum leaked out. Closing her eyes, she went numb.

“I kept it in for so long, I’m definitely having his baby.” She thought, crying. The consequence dawned upon her with devastating momentum.

“Oh, will you stop acting like the victim.” He said, flinging himself on the bed.

“How can you be so cruel?!” She complained, opening her eyes. “Oh…!” She shut her mouth, seeing the bottle wasn’t mead, but a contraceptive potion.

“Drink.” He ordered.

She swallowed a mouthful, feeling relief, then embarrassment. Of course he had that covered, he was always so foreseeing. She felt stupid like many times before.

“Thank you.” She said, putting the now empty bottle away.

“You didn’t really think I’m that irresponsible, did you?” He asked. “Well?” He asked again, grabbing her chin and pulling to face him.

“No, never.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I did.” She confessed. “I’m sorry.”

“Imperials!” He puffed, letting go and making himself more comfortable.

“I’m sorry?”

“You know what I mean.” He said casually, folding his arms behind his back. “You Imperials always act like everyone else is to blame.”

“That’s not true!” 

“Really? Then what do you make of the recent events?” Vilkas gave her an unpleasant look. “You Imperials and your laws, great on paper but useless in real life. Admit those laws are meaningless, only there as an excuse for your helplessness!”

For a second Ria was speechless, then reached for the empty potion bottle and broke it on his head.

“Bitch!” Vilkas fell off the bed.

“You bastard!” She yelled, jumping on him. Her still dripping vag stained his crotch. She punched him in the face. But as he was an experienced fighter, he blocked and pushed her off.

“How dare you!” He roared in anger. She was the bottom, she should know her place!

“You…! You…!” Ria was breathless with rage. “There aren’t words vile enough for me to use.” She slowly stood up, the two were now opposite each other, waiting for either to make a move.

“Know your place!” He ordered, gnashing his teeth.

“No!” She refused, clenching her fists. “I’ve had it with you! You bastard, I let you do to me anything you’d please, but you’ve gone too far! This was unfair from the start.” She lowered her fists and slowly shook her head. “When you assaulted me…”

“Don’t even try it!” He crossed his arms. “I gave you several opportunities to fight back and make me back off. But you just laid there and took it.”

“Yes, I did.” She confessed with remorse. “I wanted you, but not like that. I was too stupid and meek to defend myself. You basically raped me! And I came back for more, I never drew the line. I should have had some self-respect, but damn it, I got addicted to you.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“You don’t respect me.” She said quietly. “As long as the game was on, you could do anything to me until I said the safety word. Beat me, lash me, abuse my body and mind. But you’re not the boss of me outside the game. So, how dare you imply I have no sense of honor!” A new wave of rage washed her over. “How dare you say I don’t know right from wrong and need some useless laws to tell me what to think, instead of trusting my heart!” 

“Quiet it down!” 

“No! I don’t care if someone hears! You’re not controlling me anymore!” Ria’s voice was cold and strong. “I am a warrior, and my heart is on the right side. You have no right to insult my pride. We’re through. I don’t need you anymore.” She said boldly, turning to her armor and getting dressed. “Go find yourself someone else to toy with.” She said, before closing the door. “Shield-Brother.”

The door slammed. Vilkas felt sticky wetness on his nape and back. He rubbed his neck; his palm was covered in blood, she must have cut his skin.

“Well, look who grew a spine…” He said amazed, staring at the blood on his palm.

\---

Aza semiconsciously stared at Eorlund sharpening her swords. The talk with the Jarl didn’t go as planned. After nearly running into the palace, she was asked to meet Jarl Balgruuf on the Great Porch.

_“I knew you’d come here soon.” He said, stepping away from the balustrade._

_“Then it’s no secret why I’m here, Jarl.” She replied._

_“You’ve done me a great service more than once.” He acknowledged, staring into the panorama of Whiterun’s magnificent plains. “But I can’t just ignore the law and let your friend go, even though my heart tells me to. I’m sorry.” He looked her in the eye._

_“Of course you can’t.” She said bitterly. She wasn’t surprised._

_“There are those who want me to pardon him. And those who shun the very idea of disregarding the customs of the Empire. I can’t risk upsetting either side. I am Jarl before being a Nord.” Balgruuf stated heavily._

_Aza didn’t envy his position. He was in a tight spot, with both the imperialists and rebels shouting into his ear. So far, Whiterun remained neutral. Apparently, the temporary peace negotiated in High Hrothgar was rendered obsolete._

_“I can’t help you. But…” He hesitated._

_“But what, my Jarl?”_

_“But I am sure you’ve made a lot of friends during your travels. Mayhap you have friends in Riften?”_

_The heroine said nothing, but nodded slightly._

_“The city is much more prosperous since Maven Black-Briar became Jarl. As I recall, you suggested she takes Laila Law-Giver’s place.”_

_“I might have said so, but I was more preoccupied with the dragon back then.”_

_“Would you believe some people say she has ties to the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood?” Balgruuf made note, looking away. “It’s all gossip, of course, but who knows?”_

_Aza was already calculating. Fuck Maven, asking a favor from that manipulative bitch was like stuffing your hand into a beehive. But… The Guild. She had a contact in the organization. Someone who once said he never forgets a debt, and that it’s good to be his friend._

_“Well, in my line of work you get to meet all sorts of people.”_

_“I don’t doubt that.” The Jarl adjusted his circlet. “Avenicci tells me that murder charges among peasants expire after seven years. Jail escaping is one additional year.”_

_“I’m not literate in the law, I’m merely a wanderer.” Aza knew where this was going._

_“And people tend to talk and talk about something, then slowly cool down and finally forget.” Balgruuf went on. “Eight years is a lot of time for memories to fade away. And papers do tend to get… misplaced in my dungeon.”_

_“I see…”_

_“That’s all I can do.”_

_“It’s more than I had a minute ago.” She shook her shoulders._

_“You can go and visit him.” The Jarl suggested._

_“That’s not a good idea.” Aza declined with a cringe._

“You’ll start drooling soon.” The grumpy blacksmith snapped her back to reality.

“Sorry.” She wiped her mouth and chin.

“Your staring won’t make me work any faster.” The man nagged, working her blades with cool precision.

“I’ll… Go on a walk, then.”

“Be back in an hour. Don’t forget the gold.” Eorlund reminded, without giving her the slightest look.

Just as she was about to leave, she noticed an almost finished piece of armor. It was a variant of the ancient Nord Hero armor, with slight alterations. The back was covered with reinforced leather and chainmail, unlike the original scantly design. The front was sturdier, the ribcage, sides and abdomen were also reinforced, though the amulets and leather top remained. The leather skirt had short chainmail sewed in, and underneath were pants made of soft leather with padding on the knees. The boots and gauntlets remained unchanged, save for metal plates in the front of the boots. 

“That’s… impressive.” Aza said with amazement. She had to have it! It would look perfect with her cape and circlet! Not to mention, her old armor was a bit roughed up.

“It’s for Aela, so you have no business gawking.”

“Oh.” The Redguard’s enthusiasm quickly died. The Huntress wasn’t the type of person you could easily bargain with. She left the Skyforge and aimlessly wandered down the stairs.

“My, look who’s back! Missed us?” A voice called.

Aela was leaning against the stone wall with the hidden door leading to the Underforge. Though she seemed relaxed it was just a pose, she was ready to pounce at any second. 

“Just passing by.” The heroine tried to excuse herself. It was never a good idea for two alpha females to be in one place for too long. 

“Nice cape.” The werewolf in disguise noted, halting her. She was apparently in a mood for a chat.

“Nice armor Eorlund is making you.” Was Aza’s reply.

“I need something sturdier. We’re in for some hard times, and I can’t be seen walking around Jorrvaskir with my ass sticking from under my skirt.” Aela’s brows crossed.

“Meaning?”

“Skjor and Kodlak are dead.” She said briefly. Her frown was barely noticeable. “The Silver Hand. I’ll spare you the long story of bravado, ambush and retaliation. In the end, we got them all. Afterwards, me and the twins travelled to Ysgramor’s Tomb and gave Kodlak’s spirit peace.”

“That’s good.”

“The old man liked you.” The Huntress suddenly said.

“I have no idea why.” The Redguard muttered. Pity the old warrior died, but she never liked to meet with someone’s expectations.

“Me neither. But he saw something in you.” Aela kicked a stone from under her foot. “Now the twin idiots are considering getting clean themselves.”

“You can do that?” Aza was surprised. She thought lycanthropy was permanent.

“Apparently, after you throw a Glemoril Witch’s head into Ysgramor’s sanctified fire, you can.”

“So, you’re going to pull straws to decide who’s the next Harbinger?” Aza joked.

“Are you kidding?” The Huntress laughed bitterly. “Neither of us wants the job. We decided there will be no fixed Harbinger until someone worthy shows up. Until then, it’s just the three of us. My head already hurts.”

“Your problem, not mine. I have loads of my own troubles.” The Redguard fought the urge to stare at Dragonsreach.

“I heard. I’m sorry about your friend.” Aela remembered the red-haired stud. And his colossal dick. She only caught a glimpse of it from a distance, but it was enough to make her remember it for a long time.

“Why? It’s not like I don’t have a plan.” Aza’s jaws clenched.

“Good luck.” Aela nodded.

“Yeah, thanks.” She was about to leave, but suddenly remembered an artifact she had in her satchel. For her it was useless, but for a werewolf… “Say, since you said you’re in for some hard times, you’ll need something to give you edge over the twins. Not to mention someone might notice how the Companions have suffered, and take advantage of the situation… And I have just the thing.”

“You sound like a skooma dealer.”

“I got something better than skooma. And it’s completely safe. I’d be willing to trade it with you for, let’s say… That pretty armor up in the Skyforge. Though, it’s going to need some work around the chest and hips.”

Aela snorted. It was hard to determine was it outrage or amusement.

“Armor made by the finest blacksmith in all of Skyrim? I can hardly imagine what treasure would make this a fair trade!”

The adventurer smiled, sinking her hand into her satchel. Her grin widened, as she felt the familiar shape of Hircine’s Ring.

\---

Riften was dangerous to walk by night. Especially, when you’re visiting all sorts of shady places asking about a very shady person. Brynjolf was nowhere to be found, no one in the Ragged Flagon could offer any information, and Aza got the strange feeling the Guild recently underwent a major shift of power. Mercer Frey wasn’t anywhere either, though the Breton’s absence didn’t bother her in the slightest. She left, as it was getting late and the thieves, though most hadn’t forgotten she was allowed safe passage in the Ratway, were growing annoyed of her persistent questioning.

She booked the room at the Bee and Barb, the safest place to stay after it gets dark in Riften. She was tempted to order a disgustingly large bottle of rum, but she had to stay sober and operational. Because she had no appetite, she went upstairs early in the evening, undressed and flung herself on the bed.

She was restless, and hoped her only option to bust Erik out of jail was still available. Brynjolf was keeping a low profile, but word that she was looking for him was bound to reach him soon. Nevertheless, she was in a hurry.

She tossed and turned on the hay mattress, rubbing her stomach. Her guts were painfully clenched.

_“Well, this is bad.” She stated the obvious, staring at the ceiling. “What happened to the girls?”_

_“They’re staying with me.” Jouane, the elderly Breton, said. “Rorik’s mansion is large enough to house two little girls.”_

_“And I make sure they eat properly.” Mralki added._

_“I should go see to them.” Jouane excused himself. “They tend to have bad dreams and don’t like being left alone for too long. A good night to you both.”_

_He left. Aza felt a numbing headache, Mralki was silent and grim._

_“He doesn’t belong in prison.” Was the first thing she said after a longer pause. It still hadn’t dawned on her. Erik (righteously!) killed a guy and was now in jail._

_“Damn right he doesn’t!” The innkeeper slammed his fist against the counter. “My son is not a criminal!”_

_The Redguard took off her circlet, feeling little relief, the headache persisted. She had a bitter taste in her mouth. As much as she tried to get a grip of herself, panic was slowly building up inside her._

_“I’m going to get him out of this mess.” She swore, blankly staring at Mralki’s face. “Even if I’ll have to do a bunch of nasty things on the way, I’m getting him out.”_

_“How?” He didn’t look like it, but there was a spark of hope in his heart._

_“I know the Jarl. He… owes me a favor.” She confessed vaguely. This was no time for a long, complicated story involving eating dragon souls._

_“Are you sure you sobered enough?” The innkeeper scrutinized her. He thought little of the woman, and nothing had changed._

_“Do you want me to pull your ‘muscle’ again?” She grunted, but immediately calmed down. “Sorry. I’m just upset about this.”_

_“You can be upset about your son having relations with a harlot, not him ending up in jail!” He yelled, remembering how she painfully jerked him off, before strolling off with his son, only to do all sorts of depraved things to him._

_“Stating the facts won’t bother me, inkeep. I’m a slut, what of it?” She was unaffected by the insult._

_“I’m sorry.” Mralki unclenched his fists. “I’m powerless and in despair.” He exhaled, regaining his cool. “I don’t regret letting you take him anymore. I had my doubts about you, and I still have, but I’m proud of who he became. So, thank you.”_

_“Don’t thank me, it was mostly his doing. I just made sure he got a good beating if he did something stupid.”_

_“I noticed the scar.”_

_“That wasn’t me. Well, it was because of me, but I didn’t hold the blade.” She unnoticeably shrugged, remembering the carnage back in Nilheim._

_Her belly suddenly grumbled. Without a word, Mralki turned to his pantry and brought her a cold piece of ram, bread and mulled ale. She wasn’t hungry, but needed a distraction. She ate, taking her time to chew and swallow. The food had no taste, but it was just her tongue going numb and dry._

_“Who found him?”_

_“I did.” Mralki’s voice was heavy with sorrow._

_“What was he like?”_

_“Nothing like himself.” The father shook his head. “Calm, focused. Actually,” he swallowed, “he scared me a bit.”_

_“Yep, that sounds like him.” She noted with grief. Her assumptions were correct - the Slayer broke loose. “He does that when you push him real hard.”_

_“I… I know.” The man finally sat down, after pacing around. “When he was young… Well… younger, he sometimes… snapped. I hoped he’d grow out of it eventually.”_

_“He killed a group of bandits and walked out with just a cut on his face and neck.” She grinned morbidly. “So no, he didn’t grow out of it.” Her plate was empty. She got up.“Got to go. I’ll be in Whiterun in no time if I hurry up.”_

_“No, you’re in no condition to ride.”_

_“Piss off.” She grunted._

_“Get some rest, you damned hagraven!” The innkeeper insisted. “You won’t do any good now, get some sleep first.”_

_“Fine.” She gave in, realizing being stubborn was pointless._

_“No handouts in my inn. You pay for your food and room up front.” He conditioned before letting her head upstairs._

_She paid and left the main chamber, after being told which room was available. It was the last door in the corridor. But before entering, she caught a familiar scent from the nearby room._

_“Oh, fuck no…” She whispered, feeling her knees go numb. She turned around and pushed the door to the room opposite._

_It was his room. Erik’s scent was everywhere. The room was small, the furnishing simple. She saw some personal items that made her throat feel tight. She sat on the bed, the frame creaked. She looked around, noticing his old peasant clothes folded over a chair._

_“Don’t. Pull yourself together. Ah, dumb bitch…” She surrendered, reaching for it._

_She took a deep whiff, almost losing her grip. She got dizzy, as if drunk. She missed that smell. She missed his company. She missed him. She bit her lip, forcing herself to put the green, coarse shirt back. Then slapped herself, rubbed her cheek and marched out of the room. She regained control and was now planning her next move. Get some sleep, ride out first thing in the morning, go see the Jarl._

_But before that, she needed to blow off some steam. She franticly threw her armor on the floor, crawled onto the bed and fingered herself until she came with a painful clench of her twat._

_Morning brought clarity. Though she hadn’t completely cooled down, she could think clearly. She had a quick talk with Mralki, asking him to pack Erik’s things and deliver them with his horse to a trusted friend she had in Riverwood. She wrote a letter to said friend, explaining the situation and reminding of an old favor they owed her._

_Her paint mare wasn’t pleased to leave, as she just got back together with her bay sister. But time was precious and there was much to do._

_“Hey, lady!” She heard a child’s voice just as she was about to mount her horse._

_She needn’t ask who the twin girls behind her were. Sissel and Britte._

_“Yea?”_

_“Is it true you’re that crazy lady Erik ran away with?” The girl asked. Judging by her tone she was Britte._

_“Yep.”_

_“You’re going to get him out of jail, right?”_

_“I’ll try.”_

_“Not good enough!”The second girl cried._

_“Shut up, Sissel!” Her sister scolded. “So?”_

_“If I fail” Aza grinned alarmingly, “you’ll know.”_

_“How?” The girls asked disturbed._

_“You’ll see the fires coming from Whiterun.” She promised, kicking her mount’s sides._

A tap on the window pulled her back to reality. She sprang out of bed and leapt to the windowframe. Pulling sharply, she opened the window, revealing a dark figure lurking in the night.

“I hear you’re asking about me all over Riften, lass. Missed me?”

“Get in.” She stepped aside, shrugging. The night was windy.

Brynjolf slipped into the room with grace. Unlike the last time she saw him, he was wearing official Thieves Guild armor. She remembered the piece he sent Erik, almost an exact copy.

“I’m glad you’re here. I need your help and I’m desperate.” She said without sugarcoating.

“Oh?” The thief rested on the only chair in the room.

“You once said you never forget a debt and it’s good to be your friend.” She swallowed with difficulty.

“I know what I said.” He interrupted. “And I never go back on my word… Well, almost never. But in your case, I’ll hold on to it.”

And he meant it. Some time ago, per Brynjolf’s request, Aza and Erik ventured into a desolated tomb and eliminated a necromancer that dwelled within, then burned all his mad research and the bodies of his victims. Among the corpses, some of ancient draugr and some of young women, was a girl bearing a striking resemblance to the rogue. They suspected she was close family, but didn’t inquire further.

“You did the job, no questions asked.” For a second his green eyes were narrowed. “And you sent me a confirmation letter without all that sentimental nonsense. For that, I am grateful. You didn’t ‘kindly’ offer me your sympathy, which would be an insult. And now you’re just standing here saying nothing. You’re not asking who she was, or why didn’t I want to take care of the body myself.”

“As it should be.” She nodded.

“Aye.” Brynjolf laid back. “So, putting my thanks aside, I’m all ears. Why don’t you sit down and tell me what’s troubling you?”

After several minutes of the adventurer’s tale, he got up and paced around the room making no sound.

“And that’s where you come in. Well, not you.” Aza sighed heavily. “I was thinking of…”

“… Cynric.” The thief finished. Yes, she was about to mention the professional jailbreaker’s name. 

“Exactly.”

“He’s retired, you know. After a job backfiring at him and forcing to rot in a jail back on High Rock, he doesn’t do that kind of work anymore.”

“Damn it!” She yelled. “What do you want me to do? Because at this point I’m up for just about anything! I’ll even crawl on my knees to the Ratway and give everyone full service, from the lowliest footpad to Mercer Frey himself!”

Brynjolf laughed, her uterus did a backflip.

“Oh, lass!” He snickered, sitting next to her on the uncomfortable bed. “Mercer is the last thing you should be worrying about. He’s dead, you see.” There was a gleam in his eye.

“Damn, what…?” She paused mid-sentence. This was probably Guild-only business.

“I see no harm in telling you.” Bryn slung his arm over her waist, she gave him a look, but didn’t protest. “He stole from us and was responsible for our past bad luck. If you’d stuck around for longer, you’d know.”

“After that nasty job in the meadery in Whiterun I had enough.” She muttered, looking away. “I still have no Idea why I agreed to join in the first place, I only needed you to find Esbern in the Ratway. No, wait, I know. You seduced me.” She realized embarrassed, stroking his ego.

“Still, your help was indispensable. Whether you knew it or not, you helped me catch wind of Mercer’s little scheme. Sometime later, an old Guild member and I crossed paths. Let’s just say they shone some light on Mercer…” He hadn’t mentioned Karliah’s name, Aza needn’t know the story in that much detail. “Finally, Mercer fled after screwing us over. Me, Delvin and the old Guild member Mercer once framed banded together, tracked him, and… Well… Business is good once again.”

“And you’re on top.”

“I’m not happy about it.” He confessed with barely noticeable grief. “I’m not much for leadership. But I’ll be damned if I let the Guild sink.”

“So, you got more pull in the Flagon than ever…” Aza risked.

“That I do. No worries, lass, I’ll soften Cynric enough.”

She exhaled, now realizing she was barely breathing the whole conversation.

“Once you bust him out, I got a safe hidey hole in Riverwood for him to wait until the heat passes. Just ask the mill owner, she owes me one.” Aza visited Riverwood on her way to Riften. Gerdur agreed to hide Erik for a day or two. After all, she was a Stormcloak supporter and couldn’t stand Imperial law.

“Consider it done.”

“Thanks.” Was all she could say.

“Call it even. Now tell me, did he like the armor I sent him?” He smiled like the rascal he was.

“He loved it.”

“And you?” Sparkles danced in his eyes.

“He looked like the wettest of my dreams in that armor.” She bit her lip.

“You’re this cruel on purpose? What about me?” Brynjolf faked a sigh.

“Stop playing.” She punched his knee. She was in no mood for his teasing.

“Who’s playing?” The rogue got even closer. “Maybe I’m in the market for something… robust.” 

“You’re a friend.” She stated, not making the slightest move.

“I wouldn’t have gotten this far in life if it were otherwise. You smell nice, what perfume is that?” He asked, taking a whiff of her hair. Up this close, she could barely gather her thoughts.

“I don’t wear perfume, I bathe.” She replied, feeling her arms cover in goosebumps.

His goatee tickled the side of her neck. Damn his irresistible charm! If it were a year ago, she’d lay down flat with her legs so wide apart you could fit two guys between her thighs. But somehow, although she was turned on, she didn’t feel like it.

“Beat it, pretty boy.” She managed to shutter. “Or I’ll feed you my fist.”

“No means no.” Bryn gave her some space. “Can I at least get a kiss goodnight?”

Scoundrel! Oh, but what harm could a quick kiss do? She closed her eyes and puckered up.

Before a second could pass, his tongue slipped into her mouth and wrapped around hers. His lips were soft and he knew how to use them. Aza felt her thighs getting sweaty. Savagely, she grabbed his nape and pulled closer. Brynjolf grunted, his nimble fingers trotted up her spine, her lower back jerked in a spasm. He tasted intoxicatingly, what was his secret?? Whatever it was, he could have anyone. It was hard to imagine someone could resist that red-haired bastard.

He finally broke the kiss. The adventurer hadn’t noticed the moment his hand slipped under her nightshirt, stroking her upper thigh. His other hand somehow went undetected under her neckline and was centimeters from her breast.

“Are you sure you want me to go?” He asked softly, the combination of his appearance, voice and smell was a deadly brew.

“Fuckmefuckmefuckme!” Raced through her head. On the floor, on the wall, even on the damned rooftop! Lick my twat, choke me with your cock, then ram it in and pound me like a piston! And then walk away triumphant, you smug…

“Get out before I throw you out.” Berating heavily, she gnashed her teeth but kept her eyes shut.

She could physically feel his warmth backing away. The frame creaked as Brynjolf got up, then there was a quiet squeak of the opening and closing window. Aza was alone. Alone and incredibly horny.

Cursing and grunting, she pulled the nightshirt off and thoughtlessly threw on the nightstand. As her fingers slipped into her pussy, she smelled something burning. It was her nightshirt; she threw it precisely on the candle. She quickly grabbed it and threw on the floor, then poured over it water she intended to use to wash herself in the morning. The flame hissed and died, smoke filled the room. Although it was dark, she could see a large hole burned out on the left side of the chest area. The hole was big enough to fit her entire boob.

“Wonderful.” She said bitterly. Her mood was all gone now. 

\---

The second the window closed behind him, Brynjolf felt an odd sensation in his gut. Strange, he was tense all of a sudden. It wasn’t because the busty Redguard told him to get out. He sensed she wouldn’t give in, even if she couldn’t resist a kiss.

He jumped from rooftop to rooftop, feeling heat growing in his abdomen. He halted, wondering if it was something he ate. No, there was nothing physically wrong with him, it was something else. Something he wasn’t aware of up to this point. He never cared for politics, he couldn’t care less who was High King. He laughed at men and women losing their lives in this pointless war. But what he just heard… Rotting in jail for something that was so… right. Not heroic, every sensible person would do the same in the lad’s place.

He felt an iron ball slowly building up inside him. He had to let it out, or it’s going to rip his throat open. 

“Damned faithless Imperials!” He grunted with all the hatred he could muster.

The feeling passed as suddenly as it came. For a second he stood on the rooftop, surprised of the burning outrage he experienced. It came so natural to him, as if from the very blood that coursed in his veins. Red Nord blood. 

No matter now, he had to get going. It was late in the night, but Cynric should be awake for some… persuasion. He jumped off the roof of Mara’s temple, rolled on the soft grass and quickly entered one of the abandoned mausoleums. He found the secret button on the stone tomb, pressed it, and a second later he was home. 

The cistern, the main part of the Guild headquarters, was looking better than ever. That is, if you can say something positive about a sewer. The treasury was slowly filling up with larceny targets, the shelf near the Guildmaster’s desk was heavy with priceless loot. A statue of Nocturnal was giving blessings of luck and stealth for those who wished it. The Guild was slowly recovering into its former glory.

He jailbreaker was not in the cistern, neither in the Flagon. Most of the members were either asleep after a job, or up to no good somewhere else. On a hunch, the rogue took a peek into the training room.

Jackpot. The Breton was busy practicing his lockpicking skills. Brynjolf took a step back and hanged his hood on a hook near the entrance. It was a universal ‘do not disturb’ sign every thief understood.

He knew how to move quiet and swift. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he crept up on Cynric. The jailbreaker was busy with a complex lock based on a Dwemer design. Vex insisted they should focus more on training. Brynjolf happily obliged. 

Cynric muttered to himself, gently rotating the pick clockwise. He was so preoccupied with finding the sweet spot, that he hadn’t noticed the rogue just behind him. He pushed the pick, but met with resistance. He cursed, biting his tongue.

“Need a hand?” There was a velvet-soft purr next to his ear. He jolted, the pick broke.

“Brynjolf!” He yelled, his hand clenched around his chest area. “Don’t do that!”

“Why not? It’s fun.” The Nord replied unaffected.

“What do you need from me?” The jailbreaker was alert.

“I’d tell you to pull up a chair, but…” Bryn dramatically looked around the training room.

“Just tell me what you need, boss.” 

Brynjolf could swear he heard a change in pitch when Cynric said ‘boss’, as if mocking him. He began outlining the issue. Cynric hadn’t interrupted even once, but from the look on his face the thief could clearly see he wasn’t too happy.

“You know I’m retired.” He reminded in a futile attempt to end the conversation.

“I know. But think about it. Doesn’t it bother you even the slightest? That lad is innocent, for Gods’ sake! This is injustice… in the name of justice!” Bryn tried to play on the jailbreaker’s sense of dignity.

“And since when do you care about justice?” The Breton laughed. “Come on, Brynjolf, we’ve known each other for years, don’t try your tricks on me.”

“Okay, no games. I’ll be blunt - Do it. If not for our lovely…” he involuntarily made a face and crossed his arms, “Redguard friend, then for me.”

“Why? What’s it to you?”

“She scratched my back, now I want to scratch hers, so we’re even and everyone’s happy.”

“And it’s my hand doing the scratching.” Cynric grinded his teeth. “I’m not going back to prison!” 

He turned away with a grunt. Brynjolf knew he shouldn’t push, this was the crucial moment. Cynric hadn’t stormed out, so there was still a chance to influence him.

“I wouldn’t be asking if…”

“Everyone thinks I got ass-raped in prison. I wasn’t. No one ever touched me in jail.” He confessed, after a moment of pacing around. “Why, you ask? Because word somehow got out that I was a failed jailbreaker.” His face was barely sticking out of the shadow under his hood. “Three years of being ignored, as if I hadn’t existed. No one talked to me, not even to insult me. The more superstitious prisoners said I was bad luck. For three years I hadn’t opened my mouth to anyone.”

“You never told me.”

“As if you needed to know!” The Breton grinned bitterly. “I actually wouldn’t mind some mistreating or a brutal ass-fuck. Anything would be better than treating me like furniture.”

“You’re a pro and it’s dull old Whiterun we’re talking about. You’ll be in and out in no time. If anything backfires, I got your back.” The Nord swore.

“Really?” He was incredulous.

“Solidarity among thieves is sacred. Have you forgotten?” The Guildmaster raised a brow. “I take care of my own. You’re too valuable to us to go to waste.”

“Us?”

“Do you expect to hear ‘valuable to me’? Sorry, not going to happen.” Bryn laughed.

“At least you’re not lying to me to get what you want.” Cynric sighed. “What’s the current cost for busting someone out? I’m a bit out of the loop.”

“This isn’t official Guild business, I thought I made that clear.” Brynjolf stated sternly.

“And you’re short on gold, I imagine?”

“Are you a psychic? Yes, I’m broke at the moment, and I don’t touch our money. I’m not Mercer.”

“So, you expect me to get thrown into Dragonsreach dungeon for free?”

“Of course not. Name your price.” The deal was almost sealed, he knew it.

“I want to borrow the Amulet of Articulation, no questions asked. And a blowjob.” Cynric quickly stated his conditions.

“Oh.” This condition Brynjolf hadn’t expected. 

The blowjob, that is. He’d sooner expect himself to make a move on Cynric. Well, he was still in the mood, after being so coldly rejected by the buxom Aza. Her taste almost completely dissolved in his mouth. And his hood was still hanging near the entrance. 

“Deal?” Cynric grew impatient.

“Deal.” The rogue smiled lustfully.

Roughly, they clashed. Endell bit the thief’s lip before shoving his tongue in.

“Who is it?” He groaned, pulling it out after a brief struggle with Bryn’s tongue. “I can taste someone on you!”

“No worries, we were just fooling around, that’s all.” Brynjolf sneered.

“Slut.” The Breton said through clenched teeth.

“Ouch.” Bryn got on his knees, proceeding to unbuckle Cynric’s pants. Without further ado he got busy, stroking him fast, interjectionally hard and soft.

“The client?” He asked, playing with the Guildmaster’s hair.

“Straight. A shame, really. But back to you…” 

Brynjolf pulled the foreskin down. He blew on the glans, before tapping with his tongue.

“Stop teasing, unless you want me to change my mind.” The jailbreaker observed lazily, pushing his hips a bit forward.

The rogue rolled his eyes dramatically. He squeezed the base, taking the shaft in. He sucked, giving Cynric his full attention, but the Breton wanted more than that. He grabbed him by the neck and roughly stuffed his dick deeper. The rogue gasped, coughed, but endured. Grabbing the jailbreaker’s hips he relaxed his jaws preparing for the rough skullfuck.

Cynric felt great being on top. Brynjolf was never openly arrogant and didn’t abuse his power, but it felt good having him on his knees, with his hot mouth full of cock.

He felt the Nord’s honey tongue grinding his shaft, it was unbelievable how good he was with his mouth. Closing his eyes and bending back, the Breton let his mind slip away. The professional in him immediately started going through all the possible scenarios of the heist. The adrenaline that rushed into his head, as he remembered the thrill of jailbreaking, made him even more aroused.

Bryn was getting off himself. No, this wasn’t going to end in just a bit of cock-sucking. His hands moved from the hips to grope Cynric’s fine ass.

“Get ready, boss. I’m almost there.” Cynric’s smile was wide and insolent. Just to taunt a bit, he caressed his Guildmaster’s cheek.

 _“I’m going to pound your ass so bad, you’ll sleep on your stomach for at least a week!”_ The Nord thought, preparing for the Breton to come.

With a gulp, he took the cock deep, far past the tonsils. The jailbreaker came in one intense spasm, a forceful cumshot filled Brynjolf too fast; sperm leaked from the corners of his mouth. He worked hard to keep swallowing and sucking it all out.

Finally, it was over. Cynric let his red hair go. Brynjolf wiped his mouth and stood up.

“Always at your service.” The Breton said almost sincerely.

“Get on the hay.” Brynjolf grunted, pointing at the haystack in the corner. “We’re not done yet.”

Moments later, the Guildmaster was roughly pumping his favorite Breton’s ass. Cynric casually lied on his side, enjoying Bryn’s efforts to make him scream. Lazily, he jerked-off, steadily getting hard again. He was going to be sore later, he knew that well. But seeing the usually laid-back rogue fucking him like a primitive savage was worth it.

“You should see your face, boss.”

“Once you’re back from Whiterun” a mad spark was in the Nord’s green eyes, “I’ll make sure you’re getting the nastiest jobs around here.”

“But I thought I’m your favorite.” He fluttered his lashes. Brynjolf couldn’t help but burst into laughter, getting a better hold of his hips.


	7. the Grand Escape

Aza woke up late in the morning to find a note slipped under the door.

 _“One month from now – B.”_ She read out loud. The cryptic message meant Cynric will get Erik out of prison in just thirty days. 

She tore the letter into tiny bits. She was feeling a tad better, but still strained. She packed in a hurry, there were still things she should take care of. 

She caught a glimpse of herself in the dirty mirror on the wall. The ancient Nordic armor was superb, Eorlund was a master of his craft. The dark green cape fitted it perfectly, so did the jade circlet with emeralds. The glass swords were an icing on the sweetroll. Her face on the other hand… nothing new at first glance, no new scars or wrinkles. But she had deep shadows under her eyes, as if she spent several days worrying and had little sleep. That was a fact, actually - She slept badly and spent her waking hours thinking of only one thing; getting her Erik out of jail. She stuck out her tongue on her own reflection, and walked out of the room.

\---

The Rift was one of her favorite holds. Birch forests and genial climate gave her a bit of ease. She knew Erik’s fate was in good hands and he was as good as free, it was what will happen afterwards that bothered her. He could travel anywhere he’d want, except for Whiterun hold. Will he leave immediately, or will he want to find her? She wasn’t kidding herself, he probably hated her guts by now.

“Halt!” A woman’s voice called out.

Aza instinctively pulled her blade out, holding the reins with the other hand. Two figures approached. A man and a woman clad in outlandish robes, wearing strange skull-like masks. She felt her sixth sense tingling. Those two were trouble.

“State your business!” She demanded, eying the two.

“Are you the one they call Dragonborn?” The woman asked sharply.

The heroine grinded her teeth. Not this Dragonborn bullshit again! She had more pressing matters to take care of!

“Dragonborn? You mean the legendary hero of the Nords?” She snarled. “Take a wild guess.”

“Are you or are you not?” The woman behind the mask grew impatient. Her partner got dangerously close to the horse. The animal neighed as a warning.

“No, I’m not. You got the wrong person.” Aza knew her attempts to lay them off were futile.

“Not only a deceiver but also a coward!” The man was fuming. “The real Dragonborn comes, you are but his shadow!” He raised his fist, light slipped through his fingers.

“Lord Miraak rises! None shall stop him! Death to you, impostor!” A dagger appeared in the woman’s hand.

Aza gave in to blind fury. She avoided unnecessary fights, but this was one if those days you just wanted to go Merethic on someone’s ass. She kicked her mare’s sides with a wild shriek. The horse stood on its hind legs and dropped on the male attacker. The ground shook. His mask and skull cracked open under the heavy hooves.

The woman managed to dodge a wide slash of the glass sword. Aza let out another wild cry, throwing the blade at her with all her strength. The sword pierced the flesh just above the pelvis. The woman screamed, her blade slipped out of her grasp and disappeared in the thick blanket of ferns.

The adventurer dismounted her horse. She walked up to the assailant; the woman’s robe was soaked in blood, she was in agony. Later, Aza regretted she allowed herself to be this pointlessly brutal. She grabbed the handle and twisted the blade. The woman screamed again.

“You picked the wrong bitch to mess with.” Aza’s voice was full of anger she kept bottled up for so long.

“I am expendable! More will come!” The cultist behind the mask swore.

“The more the merrier.” The Redguard kicked the mask between the eyes. The woman’s nose broke with a loud crack.

She kept kicking until the woman stopped grunting in pain. She took a step back, gawking at her handiwork. This wasn’t necessary, she could just kill her quick and without excess pain. She felt disgusted of herself, but could not deny that felt good, relieving.

She searched the body. The only item she took interest in was a note found on the man. 

“Well, this just keeps getting better.” She growled after reading it. Solstheim? She heard of it, but never took interest. It seemed someone on the frozen isle harbored a grudge against her. Lovely.

The paint horse dug in the ground with her bloodied hoof, nudging the dead cultist’s body. She whinnied with sorrow, she never killed a person before.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Aza stroked the mare’s side. “There should be a stream nearby, let’s get those hooves clean, what do you say?”

The horse’s mild brown eyes looked at her with profound wisdom known only to equines. She then shook her head and let the Redguard mount her and ride off, away from the unpleasant scene.

\---

“Prisoner, you got a new cellmate!” The guard opened the barred door and shoved a new inmate inside.

Cynric’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. The cell was small, but he seen smaller. And thank the Divines, it was dry and didn’t smell too bad. There was only enough room for a bunk bed, table with two stools bolted to the floor, and a bucket in the corner.

A figure on the bed moved and sat up. The first thing he noticed about the client was his face. Putting the scar aside, this wasn’t the face of a criminal. And those eyes! Brynjolf was right, Erik was a stud. What a shame he didn’t appreciate rough manly bonding.

Erik eyed his new cellmate. Breton, dark hair, lean. His posture gave away no fear, this wasn’t his first time in jail. A thief, no doubt about it, his alert eyes and confidence weren’t of a common cutthroat. 

“Breaking and entering.” Endell said with pride, getting into his role. “With a side of burglary.”

“Murder.” Erik replied indifferently. “The top bunk is free. I don’t gamble, I don’t do skooma and I’m not much for conversation. Keep your distance and we’ll be fine.” With that, he lied down with his back facing Cynric.

 _“Well, this is getting interesting.”_ The Breton thought, climbing up to his bunk. Making contact at this point was futile. Besides, there was half a month left, enough to explain the situation. He gasped, forgetting he wasn’t supposed to lie on his back yet. His ass still felt the Guildmaster’s recent pounding. Bryn decided to visit him again just before the Breton left Riften.

\---

Sundas, the one day they let the prisoners bathe. Jarl Balgruuf was a merciful ruler, allowing those prisoners, who weren’t entirely unpredictable, to enjoy five minutes of bath once a week. The guards phlegmatically leaned against the stone walls, observing the inmates washing themselves with cold water coming directly from the underwater streams. 

As usual, there was at least three long steps form Erik. The other prisoners avoided him. Some did so because they considered him innocent; he was an outsider in their eyes. And some wanted nothing to do with a prisoner whose case aroused so much political debate.

Cynric tried to memorize every detail of the room. Just like in the plans he was provided with, the underground washroom was build from a natural cave that went deep under the city. There was, however, one passage even the jailor himself didn’t know about. But that was irrelevant now.

Erik dried his hair. The prisoners weren’t trusted enough to be given razors, so in time his stubble turned into a regular beard. How long has he been here? About… six weeks? He was slowly loosing track. Most of his days were spent on either exercising or sleeping. He wasn’t a recidivist and he hadn’t shown any signs of violence, so every other day an elderly man would pass by his cell and offer him a book from his cart. He read the less scandalous biography of the Dunmer queen Barenziah and some horror stories. Other books he had either read as a lad, or had no interest in.

The water was cold, but that was good for the blood flow. He felt someone’s eyes on him. Unsurprisingly, it was the Breton. Endell smiled and looked away. Great, this was just what he needed; an admirer.

Only one week remained.

\---

The next night, after his evening exercise routine, Erik was laying on his back, staring at the mattress above him. His cellmate was enjoying a late-evening read before lights out. He had dreams again. Vague enough to forget, but intense enough to haunt him awake.

He could only suspect Sissel abd Britte were under Jouane and his father’s care. Lemkil’s house was probably empty, slowly gathering dust and cobweb. What happened to his belongings? His axe and armor? Pa probably hid his stuff and cherished like holy relics. He should sell the axe and spend the money on things he needed around the inn. He could fetch a nice price for ebony.

When he was first thrown into his cell he could hear the guards debating amongst themselves. It was him they talked about, then Skyrim’s overall situation. The conversation quickly turned into a fiery argument, and then a fight the jailor himself came down to cease. Ever since, things were silent.

His future was uncertain, and that made him more hopeless than a death sentence. He came to realize he’s going to be stuck here for a long time. Or until the civil war is over, which was very unlikely.

Where was she? Wandering somewhere aimlessly? Savoring a drink in the back of some inn? Having wild, casual sex with some random mate? She could be anywhere, maybe even off Skyrim. She could also be dead. Or worse.

He pinched himself on the sensitive skin on the inner side if his upper arm. Every time he thought of her, he spiraled down a dark duct straight into utter misery. What wouldn’t he give to have her within arm’s reach now! He’d give her the hard truth of what a bitch she is. He’d tell her how much he hated her and then punch her straight in the face. He would then spit on her and walk away. And he wouldn’t look back.

He realized there was silence, no sound of turning pages. He glanced at the Breton. Cynric was looking straight back at him like a collector observing an interesting specimen.

“Out with it.” He said tiredly. During those few days, his cellmate had made no attempt to talk to him or engage in any other form of contact. He just kept staring, which was possibly even more unnerving.

Cynric closed his book and with unnatural speed pounced at him. Aside from jailbreaking, he was also infiltrating dungeons to assassinate targets, so he knew how to attack with no sound.

“Shh…” he whispered, covering the ginger’s mouth and deflecting his kick with his knee. “Our mutual friend sends her regards.” Endell quickly explained, seeing the clear blue eyes narrow dangerously. This one wasn’t someone you could stifle. His hand backed away.

“Who sent you?” Erik hissed, clenching his fists.

“I think you know who.”

“The bitch.” Aza! She knew! Oh, so now she sends help, after cutting him loose and washing her hands?

“If that is what you call her.” The jailbreaher shrugged his shoulders. “We’re busting out next time during wash-up. Keep close to me if you want your freedom.”

“And in return?”

“Everything’s been arranged and paid for.” The Breton explained. “I think a guard is looking. Hit me.”

The adventurer needn’t hear that twice. Endell fell off the bed and hit the floor.

“Okay, okay, I get the message!” He shouted dramatically, pressing his palm to his jaw. “I’ll leave you alone!”

He then got on the top bunk and hadn’t spoken a word. The cell was as silent as a grave.

\---

The remaining days passed painfully slow. Erik had a lot of time to do some thinking. She knew, which meant she was either in Whiterun or… Rorikstead. During those weeks she managed to hire someone (no doubt a Guild associate) to bust him out. So, she did care. Or maybe she just wanted to prove how dependent he was of her, even though they were living separate lives for several months.

Cynric made no mention of the night’s brief conversation. In truth, he avoided Erik for the sake of realism. He felt actual excitement as Sundas was getting closer and closer. Maybe he was retired, but he was still in top shape.

Finally, the guards rounded the prisoners up and escorted them to the washroom. Erik quickly glanced at his cellmate; Cynric was looking straight ahead.

The prisoners discarded their ragged clothes, collected rough bars of unrefined soap and headed towards the washbasins. 

The spring water was colder than ever. Endell trembled, weighting the bar of soap he was provided. It was heavier than one would expect. He scrubbed himself thoroughly until he felt the outer layer dissolve, uncovering a hard, round object. This was it.

He glanced at the client. Erik noticed the Breton’s incisive stare. He motioned closer. The guards and prisoners hadn’t noticed anything yet. It was now or never.

Cynric scooped a small glass orb out of his bar. The room was filled with thick, choking smoke the moment the orb smashed against the floor. Erik gasped and choked, someone grabbed him by the wrist. Before he could punch that someone, he was sharply pulled where there should be a wall. But instead of slamming against stone, he sunk into moldy-smelling darkness. There was a quiet scraping sound, after which the turmoil in the bathing room was almost completely muted.

“Shh…!” He heard a whisper next to his ear. He jumped from both surprise and coldness.

He saw a flicker and sparks. Then another one. Finally, a torch illuminated the darkness. Both he and the jailbreaker were in a cavern. There was a stream lazily flowing through its center, disappearing in a dark corridor.

“Where are we? What just happened?” He asked bewildered.

“We’re in one of many escape routes from Whiterun, my friend.” Cynric explained. He paused, listening in. The commotion behind the secret door was quieting down. “There’s no time to lose. I doubt they’ll find the hidden switch, but I’m not taking any chances. Here” he handed him the folded rags he managed to snatch. “We’re getting dressed and follow the current.”

Erik pulled on the roughspun tunic and tattered pants. Footwear was an unnecessary luxury, so he had none. He followed the jailbreaker down the stream.

“What was in that ball?” He asked, looking around. If there were any beasts sulking in the dark, he couldn’t see them. They were exposed and defenseless in the sphere of light.

“In the business we call it ‘Nocturnal’s Bedsheet’.” Cynric replied. “You needn’t know more.”

“So, I guess you won’t tell me who smuggled in the soap, and how you found that torch?” 

“Nope.”

“Will you at least tell me where are we going?” Erik grew impatient. He hated feeling left out.

“To a safe place. Trust me, I’m a professional.” Cynric assured.

There was a nauseating crunching noise underneath the Breton’s feet. Cynric shone before himself. He stepped in a dried-out, web-ridden carcass, which could only mean one thing.

They heard movement above. The torch’s flame was reflected in dozens of black eyes. They entered a frostbite spider nest. Snapping of mandibles and trotting of hairy legs followed, magnified by the echo.

“Well, this wasn’t on the map…” The jailbreaker laughed nervously.

The torch hissed when a drop of goo dripped onto it from the ceiling. The spiders lowered themselves, outstretching their disgusting legs. The smell of fresh blood woke them up from hibernation, and they were hungry.

Erik made a step back and felt a rock under his sole. He quickly picked it up and threw at the nearest arachnid. The spider fell off its web; the stone hit it right in the eyes. It gurgled, kicking madly in a hopeless attempt to roll off its fat abdomen. 

Endell snapped out of it. He knew what to do the moment he noticed a tangled knot of web blocking their path. Few people knew how flammable frostbite spider webbing was. The torch was thrown across the nest, jamming into the exact center of the knot. A burst of flame erupted, for a second the entire nest was as bright as in the middle of day. 

“Go!” Cynric rasped, bolting. Erik followed, ignoring the sights before his eyes; a boiling mass of burning spiders.

They ran in the dark, ankle-deep in freezing water. Soon, the only sound was their exhausted breathing. They halted, drank from the stream and cooled their sweaty foreheads.

“I’m getting too old for this.” The Breton complained. “Good thing we’re almost there.”

They marched in the cold, damp void, accompanied by the sound of dripping water. Before time could blur, Cynric suddenly stopped. Erik bumped into his back, almost toppling Endell over.

“What now?” He asked alerted.

“We’re here.” The Breton said. “This is where the stream pours into an underground lake. It’s not too deep, so we should make it.”

“We’re diving?” Erik had his doubts.

“No other way out.” Cynric replied. “If you want, you can go back, or stay here and feed on blind underground fish for the rest of your life, like some grotesque creature.”

“How far?” He gave in.

“You’ll manage on one lungful of air.” There was a crack, the Breton must have been stretching. “Don’t think, just dive and keep swimming until you reach the bottom. Then straight ahead, there’s a grotto that goes right into the White River. Once you’ll meet with the current, resurface. I’ll see you on the other side.” With a loud splash the jailbreaker was gone.

Erik didn’t dwell on his situation. He took a deep breath and jumped in the water. It was icy, even for a Nord. His lungs were crushed by the cold, his skin stung, his hands and feet were on fire, but he sucked it in and kept swimming. Freedom was just moments away. When he reached the bottom, he kicked off, swimming forward.

He started to feel his ribcage convulse, his mouth got bitter. He needed air. Some escaped from the corners of his mouth and fluttered away. His elbow got grazed on a stony wall; he entered the grotto. He could feel the walls closing in on him, he’s going to get stuck! He’ll die here!!

When hope almost abandoned him, he saw the end of the tunnel. He worked his numbing arms and legs, his lungs burned in response. He was on the verge of gasping for air and choking with water. He entered the current, getting swept by it. He could see the surface! He kicked off the bottom, he needed just a few more seconds… Just a bit, just…

He bobbed up, fighting for air. Ha made it! Snorting and spitting, he swam, then raced to the shore. His knees were weak, so he crawled. When he felt grass under his palms, he fell on his back and rested until his head stopped spinning. 

“What took you so long?” He heard his rescuer joke. 

“You do not want to see me get up from here.” He heaved.

“I do, actually. It’s not over yet. Come on!” Cynric ushered.

Erik sat up. Before him were the plains of Whiterun with the city itself. Behind him was a pine forest. From where he sat, he could catch Dragonsreach between his fingers and squash like a bug. He now knew how much did he miss fresh air and space. He was weary, but hadn’t earned his rest yet. He followed Endell into the woods, still dripping water. Soon, the path started winding up.

“We’ll soon part, but you’ll be in good hands. You should lay low for a day or two, then you can go wherever you please. Well, except Whiterun.” Cynric said, making no noise on the dry twigs and cones. 

“Great.”

“You can expect there’s going to be a bounty on your head, so try not to catch anyone’s attention. You already stirred enough commotion on both sides of the war.”

“Great.”

“You got a mighty fine ass, by the way.”

The fugitive halted, giving the jailbreaker a dazed look.

“Who goes there?” There was a woman’s stern voice.

“A courier. I got the package.” Endell replied, his face still had a sly expression.

“Come forward.”

The men entered a small clearing. In the dark was a tall figure of a woman. She had neither torch nor lantern to light the darkness.

“As you can see I delivered the package safe and sound.” The Breton assured.

“I can see that.” The woman’s voice was cold. She tossed a bundle before Cynric’s feet. “Here’s your gear… thief. Now begone.”

“Good luck, friend.” The jailbreaker bid, picking up his belongings. “Try to stay out of trouble.” He advised, retreating.

“Thanks.”

“It’s what I do.” The Breton’s voice was now heard from a distance, though Erik could have sworn he hadn’t heard him move. He was alone with the woman.

“You must be exhausted.” She said in the dark. “My house is not far away, let’s get going.”

They marched until they saw lights of a small settlement. The village was quiet, sound asleep. The few guards patrolling the main road were half-asleep themselves. 

In the dim light Erik could see the woman was indeed tall and broad. He couldn’t see her face from under a linen cowl she wore. She signaled him to wait and looked over the corner, then pulled him to the back of town. They reached an unremarkable house. The woman looked around before knocking three times. Warm light slipped from the inside as a boy opened the door. They quickly entered, shutting the door behind.

The woman took her cowl off with a relieved sigh. Her hair was golden, her eyes crystal blue. Her cheeks were red, though her skin was light. She had large, heavy breasts and birthing hips. She was the picture of a healthy, fertile Nordic woman.

“Where’s your father?” She asked the child strictly.

“In the inn, just like you told him.” The boy answered.

“Good, good. Seat our guest, I’ll be right back.”

Erik was seated at a long dining table. He looked around; the interior was plain and homely, it was obvious this was home to simple, hardworking people. He relaxed, finally feeling safe. He didn’t want to think, he needed sleep and perhaps something to eat. He noticed the lad’s intense stare.

“Yes?”

“Are you a Stormcloak?” The boy asked, getting closer. “My uncle is a Stormcloak. He used to hide here from the Imperials, but now he’s fighting in Ulfric’s army. 

“No, I’m not a Stormcloak.” Erik explained tiredly. Goodie, rebel supporters.

“Are you an imperialist, then?” The boy’s arms crossed.

“No, I’m an adventurer.” He hoped the answer will satisfy the kid’s curiosity.

“My ma says adventurers are good for nothing vagabonds, who don’t care what will happen to our land.” The boy pointed at him accusatory.

“Frodnar!” His mother appeared behind him. “Bed, now!” She ordered, slapping his behind. The lad yelped and ran out of the room. “Forgive him. He’s a bit nosy.”

“I’m too worn out to bother, ma’am.” He dismissed.

She placed a platter and cup before him. The food was simple, but he wasn’t picky. He was hungry like a wolf and hadn’t had anything decent in his mouth for a long time. He tried to remember what was the last thing he ate as a free man, but his memory failed him. 

“We have some time to talk now.” She said, sitting opposite to him. “My name is Gerdur, I own the mill here in Riverwood.”

“Ah, so I finally know where I am.” He acknowledged with his mouth full. He grunted, food was getting in his beard.

“What’s important is that you’re in a safe place.” Gerdur comforted, though he needn’t any comfort. “I know all about you and what you did. You spat the Empire in the face that day, and for that you have a friend in me. You…” She started rambling about honor, freedom and the likes.

He remained silent, phlegmatically chewing on what was left of his food. He now noticed she had large, red hands, no doubt from working the lumber all day long. Her icy eyes were burning with fever, as her speech escalated.

“I didn’t spit in anyone’s face.” He interrupted, growing tired of her tirade. “I protected two girls I’ve known since they were babes. That’s all there is to it. The war is none of my concern. Now” he picked a piece of meat from his bushy beard, “what did she do to convince you to harbor a fugitive?”

“She and my brother escaped Helgen together.” The woman endured his cold gaze. “But even if I didn’t owe her, I’d still help. Like it or not, you made a stand and I applaud, even if you don’t appreciate it. You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like.”

“I won’t overstay my welcome. I’ll be gone first thing in the morning.”

“If that is what you wish, I won’t stop you. But I advise you leave after it gets dark. Are you full?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Then come with me, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

Gerdur approached and opened a large wardrobe. She pushed a false back panel aside, revealing narrow steps leading into darkness. She lit a lamp and descended into the dark. Erik followed, unsurprised she had a hidden cellar.

The room was small, dry and not stuffy at all. The light of the lamp licked the walls, conjuring shadows all around. Gerdur placed the lamp on a shelf and bid him goodnight, pointing at a package in the corner. But Erik was preoccupied with a familiar dark figure laying on the bed. His heart started beating faster, as he approached the frame.

\---

“Did you miss me?” He asked, tenderly running his fingers along the familiar ebony curves and angles. “Because I missed you.”

She didn’t reply, she was an axe after all. He enjoyed the cool of the volcanic glass for some more, before putting her against the wall and focusing his attention on the package. It contained all his gear, personal items and travelling essentials.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He laughed, putting on Kynareth’s amulet. He immediately felt cool relaxation, as if the goddess herself eased his troubled mind.

He unpacked the rest of his things. The armor was there, so was the simple shirt and undergarments he wore underneath. He got rid of the rags he had to wear in jail, and welcomed the fresh linen material with glee. He then noticed the Skyrofge Steel dagger.

He took it in his hands and examined its condition; the blade was still sharp. He grabbed a handful of his beard and cut it off. He continued doing so, until he felt more or less groomed. He almost screamed with joy, uncovering another precious item; his mare’s brush. This could only mean she was nearby, ready to ride off to another adventure.

He noticed a new item; a black leather hood to match the armor. This could be useful, since he shouldn’t show his face to anyone. He heard rustling when he minced the wonderfully soft leather. Inside the hood was a folded piece of paper. He felt the floor slip from under his feet, he knew well who was the note from. He sat on the bed, before he tripped over his own weak feet.

 _“Want to yell at me for everything I’ve done to you? I’ll be waiting where I met Jarl Ulfric. Only for two days after your grand escape, then I’m gone.”_ He read under his breath.

He crumpled the note, before setting it aflame. The wretch was just within arm’s reach. Oh, he’s going to go to Helgen. And he’s going to do some yelling, then some punching. But first, he’s going to thank her for spinning the whole plan to bust him out, only to prove how much he needs her. After all, why did she go through all the trouble to free him? He rejected the attachment hypothesis. Why push him away, then act like she cared? No, this was about pride and dominance. 

Women, pa was right all along.

\---

It was obvious Gerdur harbored fugitives before. In the morning her son brought him water, soap and food, asking if he needed anything. Erik only asked if his horse was okay. The lad confirmed and was gone the next second. Later, Gerdur’s husband, Hod, came to pay him a visit. The man wasn’t as obsessed with the rebel cause as his lovely wedded. He merely wanted to know what Erik planned to do next. He was pleased to learn the adventurer intended to leave in the evening and stay out of Whiterun.

The day slowly rolled towards sunset. Gerdur came around the time shops closed and the fair folk of Riverwood were either home or at the inn. Erik was waiting, geared up and eager to go.

“Are you ready?” She asked.

“I can’t wait.” He grinned alarmingly.

“I’m guessing you two have a complicated history.”

“You have no idea how. But there’s nothing a good aim can’t fix.”

The woman slapped the back of his head as if he were a whelp.

“Men! They don’t grow up, they just grow bigger!” She shook her head. “Laddie, anger is the worst advisor.”

“And one grand anesthetic.” He talked back, gathering his stuff.

He felt himself again, clad in his armor, with his axe on his back and dagger on his hip. He put the hood on, he couldn’t see for himself, but most of his face was now obstructed in shadow.

Gerdur muttered under her nose, leading him out of the house. They crept to the back of town, near the road heading south. She led him for a few more yards, until he heard familiar neighing. From behind the shrubs appeared Frodnar, leading the bay mare by the reins. Once the horse saw its master, it nearly pulled the boy on the ground, happily trotting towards Erik.

“My girl!” He welcomed, patting her neck. The horse rested its head on his shoulder.

“She looks much better now.” The woman noted. “She was so miserable for the past few days. Frodnar, home.” She said, nodding at the boy. The lad was gone the next second.

“Thank you. I don’t have any gold…” Erik apologized. He suspected all his money was safely in his father’s hands. Good, he couldn’t think of a better place for it.

“If you’d offer me money, I’d be insulted. You’re not bad, if a bit sullen, and I was glad to help. I packed you some food, it should be enough for wherever you plan to go. I don’t know what you’re planning, but good luck. Talos be with you.” She bid as a farewell.

Erik mounted his horse. The world was once again all his to roam. Well, almost. But he was free.

“Talos be with you as well.” He said goodbye.

He rode straight for Helgen. With every passing tree and rock, his heart grew colder.

\---

Helgen was a ghost town. The ruins of houses and businesses were nothing more than burned-out husks. What little of value remained after Alduin’s attack, was long picked by scavengers. Soon, bandits sought the town as a perfect hiding place. When they grew in numbers, the Jarl of Falkreath had a team of his men march in and kill every outlaw in sight, impaling their corpses on spikes as a warning. Ever since, Helgen became a true ghost town, with the occasional fugitive or beast seeking refuge in the desolated keep.

The chopping block was standing on its place as if nothing had happened. There were still traces of the executioner’s axe, although the rain and snow washed away the bloodstains. It started to snow. The type of snow Aza hated the most; little shards of ice combined with strong wind. She shielded herself from the cutting wind with her cape, finding little comfort. 

It was long pass midnight and still no signs of him. Did the heist go wrong? Impossible. It was more likely he didn’t want to see her. No… He wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to give her a piece of his mind. And a piece of his fist as well. Nope, he’ll come. She wanted to have this unpleasant business over with and head straight for Solstheim. She learned in the past how unwise it was to ignore her role as the Divines’ chosen. Though, that didn’t change the fact she wasn’t too happy about it.

Instinct told her she wasn’t alone. Someone was staring at the back of her head. She felt shivers down her spine. Amazed, she realized she was too scared to turn around.

The Redguard harlot hadn’t the courage to face him! What a surprise! He was just a few long steps from her, and already he felt his insides torn apart by rage. Oh, but that would only give her satisfaction. No, he’s not going to give her the pleasure of seeing him in pieces.

“You know I’m right behind you, so let’s skip the greetings.”

Aza tiredly spun around. Daedric Lords, he was more furious than she expected. Furious enough to be so cold and cruel. He hadn’t made the slightest move, only kept staring with that gleam. This wasn’t him. Or maybe he changed during those months apart. 

“Ancient Nord Slut armor? Some things never change. Well, start talking. I know you have a whole speech prepared for this occasion.” He said coldly.

“Speech? No… more like a retrospection.” She gave up and hunched her shoulders. “You know, this is where it all started. Right here…” She pointed at the chopping block. “It was my turn to get a smooch from the headsman’s axe. I was on the verge of going insane from fear, but there was no point in fighting, the only guy that tried running got shot in the back. I think… I think he was from Rorikstead, you know?” She kicked the side of the block. “I got on my knees and rested my cheek where the blood of the previous unlucky bastard hadn’t died yet. Suddenly, I was calm. When you know nothing can change the inevitable, you find solace. I thought of the great dunes of the Alik’r Desert. I relaxed, waiting for the final chop. But it never fell.”

Her gaze shifted towards the ruined tower. She frowned, remembering everything with clarity. She never had dreams about Helgen, the city’s destruction haunted her in daylight. She had other horrors to plague her dreams.

“Then Alduin rolled in and breathed fire. Some were fortunate to die on the spot. Most hadn’t been that lucky… And how they smelled.” She glanced at him and gave a weak ironic grin. “And do you know what the Dragonborn, the fabled heroine, the chosen of the Gods did? I pissed myself. My mind went black with terror I’ve never felt before. I pissed my pants and couldn’t move a muscle. I was lucky in my stupidity; one of the prisoners noticed me, pulled me up and punched in the face. That was enough to get me back in the game. I ran with piss dripping down my crotch. I doubt the bards will ever sing about that one time Dovahkiin’s bladder gave in, but it’s the true story… So, how was prison?” She asked nonchalantly. “Any admirers?”

“I should have guessed you’d turn everything into a joke.” He spat. “Well, go on, gloat. I know you want to. Go on and tell me what a fool I’ve been, getting into trouble without you. Tell me how much I needed you to get me out. Because we both now I’m not worth squat without you.”

“Go fuck yourself, you’re not my problem ever since Markarth.” She rebuffed, expecting such accusations.

“How could I forget Markarth…” Without his will, his hand reached behind, gripping the axe’s handle.

“That’s how you want to settle it?” She deftly reached for her swords.

“Why not? I’m an outlaw, a murderer, who knows what might cross my mind?”

He acted on impulse. The blade rose and fell. She dodged; the axe’s strike was futile, conjuring sparks against the chopping block. He regained balance in a second.

“Bullshit. You don’t belong in prison and you never will.” She got into a defensive stance.

“What does that supposed to mean?!” He yelled, angered.

“You’re too good to be rotting in the Jarl’s dungeon.” She grinded her teeth. “I’d never let that happen.”

“You’re not the boss of me anymore. Isn’t that what you wanted? To stop being my mommy?” He tried to round her, but the wretch kept in motion.

“Shut up. I didn’t expect you to be grateful, but I didn’t do it to prove anything.” She motioned back to a safe distance. “Shit happened, you acted. You did the right thing, though the place and time were unfortunate and you got screwed over. End of story.”

Erik’s arms went numb. He rested the axe against the ground. Although still enraged, he felt emotionally exhausted.

“They were nine… Just nine… And his daughters.” He frowned, realizing he might have lost his last shred of innocence.

“I know. It’s much easier to kill a group of bandits, than deal with the evil lurking in normal, ordinary people…” She said softer.

He shrieked, letting his weapon go. He rushed towards the Redguard and grabbed her by the shoulders. She didn’t strike, he was unarmed. His face was mere inches away, the mad look on it gave her shivers.

“You just have the answer to everything, don’t you?!!” He shouted, giving her a good shake. “Well, you don’t! You’re not that wise and insightful. You didn’t ditch me for my own good! Admit it, bitch! Admit it, you got scared things were getting serious!”

“Get off me!” She dropped the swords to push him away. “Time apart did you good, you can’t deny it. But yes, I confess, I got scared.” She helplessly rose her arms. “I got scared things would start getting bad. That you’ll get tired of me. So I ran away while things were still good. It was the best I could do.”

“Yeah, and that did us great.” Erik laughed bitterly. “What would you do that night in the shed if I hadn’t controlled myself?” He suddenly asked.

“You mean that one time I kept teasing you until you couldn’t take it anymore, jumped me and almost raped me? Well… Maybe I’d let you have your fun, maybe I wouldn’t. Regardless, I’d give you a good beating afterwards. And believe me, the beatings you got from me would be nothing in comparison. I’d probably leave you crippled for life, then be on my way. Why ask now?”

“I had a lot of time to think in prison.” He indifferently said. “I was thinking how different my life would be, if it hadn’t been for you. How different I could turn out.”

She wheezed. That was one of her late night fears; what could have become of him if she’d leave him in Rorikstead. She immediately thought of Kjeld, the foolish whelp who she encountered in an abandoned lighthouse. The fool also wanted to live a life of adventure, but hung out with the wrong crowd and made bad decisions. He ended up with a few bruises, his pride in pieces, no clothes and a dagger up the arse. A very small price for stupidity and cowardice. 

“There’s no point in dwelling on it now.” She waved her fist. “You turned out good, better than I could hope for. Nothing else is worth bothering with.”

The wind blew in her back, the cape flapped. He sneered resigned, he just couldn’t stay indifferent around that woman. Wherever he’d be, whatever he’d be doing, whoever he’d be doing, the thought of her would be with him, like a tumor clinging to the back of his head. 

“Divines, I want to hate you. You have no idea how. But I can’t.” His fists clenched. The brief moment he touched her skin was enough to make his chest feel ripped open.

“Sure you can, you’re just not trying hard enough.” She encouraged.

“Despite you giving me reasons… You messed-up bitch.”

“That’s the spirit!” Aza cheered. “Anything else you want to get off your chest?” She inquired, picking up the glass blades.

“Nothing I can think of right now.”

“Well then, it was good seeing you, but I got to go.” She started to cautiously retreat, eying him in case he gets any new ideas.

“Where in Oblivion are you running away to now?” He grunted, making a step forward. His hot breath was like a cloud of fury in this weather.

“Solstheim. Not my choice. And I’m not running away.” She disclosed insulted.

“Yes, wretch, you are. You think I just wanted to do some sparring and yell at you? Oh, no! You’re not off the hook. I’m not letting you go.” He swore with a crazed gleam. He was dead serious.

“You’re coming with me?” She assumed with disbelief. 

“No. I got my own plans. Go to Solstheim, I’m joining the Dawnguard, it was actually what I intended to do after visiting home. In two months I’ll be waiting for you in Windhelm docs.” He approached his Redguard harlot and breathed straight in her face. Shards of ice on her lashes melted. “And you better be there. Because if you won’t… I’ll find you. And Divines help you.”

“Is that a threat?” Aza dared.

“It’s a date.” Erik promised.

\---

Lord Harkon was now a pile of smoldering ash. So were his devoted followers. His castle was burning, the Dawnguard was as efficient as it was zealous. The fighting was still ongoing, but the cathedral was quiet and still after the fierce battle that claimed the Master Vampire.

The hero who landed the final, lethal blow heaved, observing moonlight illuminating the speckles of dust dancing over the ash. It was finally over. After several weeks of near death, little sleep and constant pressure, it was finally over. The world was safe from Harkon’s delusional ambitions.

He smiled pleased, he outdid himself. He wiped his damp forehead, then swept his hair back and tied with a leather band. The woman sitting next to him on the cold stone floor was completely motionless, her chest didn’t move. It was natural for her; she was a vampire herself, after all.

“I can’t believe it.” Serana, Harkon’s prized daughter, said with sorrow. “He’s dead. My father is dead, and I’m finally free from his madness.” She turned to him, her eyes were otherworldly amber. “And it’s all thanks to you.”

“Well, I did come prepared.” Erik smiled tiredly, patting the handle of his new axe. The weapon was made from dragon’s bone.

He loosened the collar of his armor; the darker variant of Dawnguard light armor. His old armor was torn into shreds by a gargoyle during his first days amongst the ranks of vampire hunters. But losing his armored jacket and ending up with just three cuts across his abdominals was a whole lot better, than having the monster carve his belly open. The axe he was now using was a souvenir from the Soul Cairn. The ebony one was sold right after he and his undead partner came back to Mundus.

The vampire bowed her head, staring at her own hands. She was an ageless beauty, forever young and yet there was elder wisdom in her eyes. Her figure was slim, youthful and lithe. Her voice was enough to make anyone stop and listen in awe. On top of that, she was intelligent and confident. Erik could stare at her for hours, but he wasn’t a fool. Although Serana was a beauty he never saw before, she was still a corpse with a thirst for blood. And that was more than enough to cool down his loins.

He still had some time before setting off to Windhelm, but he hadn’t planned on spending it with the Dawnguard, it was time to move on.

“What now?” She asked, seeing him stand up.

“I’m done.” He explained calmly. “It was fun, venturing with you into the Soul Cairn and the Forgotten Vale, uncovering ancient prophecies and legendary artifacts… But I’ve had enough. Give Isran and the others my best regards, but it’s time I pick up where I left before joining in. So… goodbye.”

“Wait!” She sprang up. “I can’t let you leave just like that. I owe you a debt bigger than you can imagine. Please, if there’s anything I can do for you…” And she meant it, though both knew carnal lusts were out of the picture. Serana couldn’t stand owing a debt.

“Anything? Well, I think I can trust you…” He handed her his coinpurse, heavy from the gold he made off selling his old axe. “Take this to Rorikstead and give it to Mralki, the innkeeper. Tell him I’m doing good. That’s all.”

“That’s it?” She was surprised, almost offended how menial his request was.

“Well, I’m not going to ask you to turn me into a vampire.” He joked. “But about that…” He hesitated.

“Yes?” Serana was alert. He was about to touch a personal matter, or offer advice. Although they spent a lot of time together and been through many dangers during the past weeks, she kept him at a safe distance, just like everyone else. She hated when anyone tried to get too close, regardless who they were.

“You could get clean, you know.” He dared suggest.

“Why should I?” Her eyes now had a shot of crimson.

“I’m not going to judge you, or try to change your mind. If you feel comfortable with who you are, I have no right to preach. But maybe, since all this is over and you are free, you could take one more step and finally be your own person. It’s just a thought.”

“I’ll… consider your advice.” She promised reluctantly. Actually, since he put it that way… Were she alive, she’d shrug remembering the degrading ceremony that tainted her mind, body and soul for the rest of her life. “Goodbye. And good luck, whatever new mess you’re going to get yourself into.”

He left the castle undisturbed, passed the rubble-ridden courtyard and sailed on one of the boats back to the shore of Haafingar. It was almost dawn, how ironic. The morrow was misty. He hiked towards Solitude, as he left his horse at the city stable. Before setting off, he intended to wander the city and do some shopping, maybe enjoy a bath or lavish feast.

He entered Solitude around noon. He quickly passed the Winking Skeever, warding himself from the sudden wave of tender memories associated with the inn. Some managed to slip pass his willpower, forcing him to slow down and sigh. Were there any good brothels around? Sure there were, this was Solitude, after all! He had some gold, he could treat himself to some hired affection. No… forget it. He wasn’t in the mood, he just didn’t want to remember, a jug of mead would do him more good. And would surely cost less.

Few hours later, he left the general store, pleased to see the weather was clearing up. He bought himself silver-lined leather bands to fasten his braids and keep his hair back, which went well with the dark armor. He hummed, passing the city gate and strolled down the hill, heading to the stable. On his way he passed what seemed to be a large caravan.

“Yesss…” He heard a familiar purr. “You could strike a deal with this one. We know the roads to Windhelm…”

“Ma’dran!” He greeted loudly, approaching the circle of tents. 

The cat jumped and bristled his fur once he saw the red-haired Nord. The person Ma’dran was talking to was a middle-aged Redguard, clad in outlandish robes.

“Ah, it is you, my friend. This one is happy to see you in good health.” The feline’s eyes shone like gemstones.

“Too bad you didn’t bother with my health when you left us for dead in Winterhold.” Erik pierced the Khajiit’s skull with his gaze. “Too bad…”

He remembered the cat and his guards escaping once they saw a frost dragon on their path, leaving him and Aza to fight the beast. He didn’t want revenge, but he didn’t want the damned Khajiit to deceive anyone either. 

“What is the meaning of this Ma’dran?” The Redguard asked. He had a deep, low voice, that although calm, demanded an answer.

“Nothing of importance. Just some old business.” The deceitful merchant smiled cajolingly. “This one offers delayed payment if you promise to leave the subject.” He addressed Erik, reaching into his pocket.

“Choke on your gold. I’ll bet my head you got it illicitly.” He turned to the Redguard. “I don’t know who you are or what your business is, but don’t trust that damned cat. He’ll leave you to your fate the moment he spots danger.” He ended his tirade with a loud snort and spat next to where Ma’dran was sitting.

The Khajiit hissed, but couldn’t call for his trusted bodyguards. They were too far away to come to his aid. The tents belonged to Redguards, either guards or caravaneers. Together, there were about thirty or so people.

“I see.” The Hammerfell man took a moment to consider his options. “Thank you, but I am no longer in need of your services. Leave.”

“No, it is this one who lost his interest in business!” The cat refuted, storming out of the circle of tents.

Well, that was that. Erik shrugged his shoulders ready to leave.

“Wait.” The man’s voice hadn’t raised, but he daren’t disobey. “Please, join me. I have a proposition.”

“I’m listening.” He said, sitting opposite to him on a soft tapestry laid directly on the grass. He already knew what the man will offer.

“The deal you just interrupted is important to me. I run this caravan, you see. We spent several months here, in Solitude, but we must march out east today. Our destination is Windhelm, but we cannot take the main roads. I can clearly see you are a traveler yourself. Do you know the land?”

“That I do.”

“I need to be in Windhelm as soon as possible. Can you guide us?”

“You’re lucky. I have business in Windhelm myself.”

“I’m glad. My name is Kemon.” The Redguard introduced himself.

“Erik.”

\---

Just holding the Black Book made Aza tremble. There was ancient knowledge and evil in that piece of leather and paper. It was too powerful for anyone to read and not get corrupted by it. She remembered the place she took it from… And it wasn’t Solstheim, it was that… dark, cold plane, so… nauseatingly greenish, and moldy… She crossed her eyebrows, then shoved the book into a solid, iron case she ordered from the blacksmith in Raven Rock. She locked it and hid the key in her satchel. She then took a powerful swing and threw the case far away from where she was standing; onboard a ship heading back to Skyrim.

She knew it was pointless, one way or another Hermaeus Mora will find a way to seduce and enslave men with forbidden knowledge and power. But this was her way of saying ‘I’m out’. The rest of the Black Books she left next to Miraak’s skeleton in Apocrypha. She wanted to quickly forget about Solstheim, the first Dragonborn, Hermaeus Mora and his realm. But the farewell he gave her, made her blood curdle.

_“Miraak harbored fantasies of rebellion against me. Learn from his example. Serve me faithfully, and you will continue to be richly rewarded" She heard the Daedra’s hum from all directions, as if his voice filled the entire realm of Apocrypha._

_“I don’t want any of your gifts.” Her voice trembled. “I want out of here. I want my life back.”_

_“Mortal ignorant.” Hermaeus’ thousands of eyes rolled with glee. “You can leave, you can do whatever you please, but you will never break free from your fate. I know that better than anyone. I am the Lord of Fate.”_

_Aza felt a sleek, slimy tentacle caress her inner thigh. She screamed, jumping. The Daedra laughed amused._

_“I don’t believe in fate! If you want to break me, spare me the ordeal!” She managed to screech terrified. She was at the Daedric Lord’s mercy, she knew he’d crush her existence in a mere second. And if that was his aim, at least spare her the torture._

_“Oh, my champion… What use would you be if I reduced you to a blubbering pile of flesh? No… I send you back to your world… With one final gift.”_

_Another tentacle wrapped itself around her throat and seized her chin, forcing the heroine to look up, straight at the ball of darkness and eyes in the dark sky. Her eyes rolled back in her head, as the Daedra invaded her mind, forcing a vision upon her._

_She was wounded and kneeling, holding someone tightly in her arms. She knew the life of that person was in her hands, and she’d sacrifice her own life for theirs. Although she wanted, she couldn’t look down and see the face of whoever she was protecting._

_All around there was fire and smoke. The smell of blood filled the crimson night air. She took a deep breath and called out a name. A dragon swooped in, landed in front of her and spread its red wings… Her mind surrendered into nothingness._

_She awoke on the snow in the middle of the Skaal village, with Frea, the new shaman looking over her. It was over, the deed was done. But she couldn’t sleep, and felt uneasy the remaining time she was on Solstheim._

“Well, that’s that.” She said with relief. “I need grub.” She added, strolling to the dining deck.

She ate little, as she was running out of gold; her funds were barely enough to get back to Windhelm and not starve along the way. She spent most of her resources on the case and two perfect Nordic swords. She conditioned they follow the Skaal design, but be made of ebony, which considerably rose the costs. But the result made glass look in comparison like a child’s toy. 

She should find some work soon… or a chest of gold on the bottom of some forgotten ruin. She swallowed a mouthful of bland bread, staring into her almost empty cup. Perhaps it was pure coincidence, but the ship was going to sail to Windhelm exactly two months after she left Helgen for the second time. She wondered was he going to be waiting for her…

“Excuse me?” A woman’s shy voice was heard from above. “Could I ask for a moment of your time?”

Aza looked up from where she was dining. The voice belonged to a middle-aged woman who looked like a monk or healer, accompanied by a younger woman with a clearly visible rounding under her dress. Both were her kinswomen. She instinctively knew the two were city Redguards, unlike herself. 

“Yea?” She asked, trying not to sound unpleasant. 

A mother and her pregnant daughter? Two women alone on a ship with mostly Nord sailors? She could see where this was going.

“My name is Saabi, this is my sister Kazi. As you can see, we’re travelling alone, and my sister is with child. Our trip is urgent. We’re not wealthy, but I don’t think any of the thugs eying our purses would bother with asking. Could we… accompany you until we reach Windhelm? I have no coin, but my husband will be waiting for us and he is bound to pay you.”

The heroine said nothing, but motioned away, making room on the bench she was occupying. The women joined in with relief.

“Thank you!” Saabi smiled. “I promise we won’t cause you any trouble.”

She had a warm, motherly disposition. Her frizzy hair was cut short, close to the skin. She had hazel eyes and a dark complexion, even for a Redguard. Kazi, on the other hand, was a quiet, shy creature with plump cheeks, flowing ebony hair and wide, almost child-like innocent eyes. 

The women laughed after the adventurer introduced herself. Aza almost forgot her name had a hidden meaning in Redguard culture. She talked with the older woman about irrelevant nonsense, Kazi remained silent, but was clearly felling safer, although avoided looking the heroine in the eye. 

“You must have some urgent business back on the mainland, eh?” Aza asked, trying not to make a face, but the drink she just finished tasted terrible. She noticed the women exchanged looks. “Ah, sorry, not my business.” She waved her palm, realizing they must have had damned good reason to sail alone, and with one of them pregnant.

“Forgive us, but we can’t say. I hope you can understand.” Saabi excused calmly, but firmly.

“I did my share of escort jobs, ma’am. I don’t need to know much pass your names.”

“Thank you. And might I ask what drove you to Solstheim? I can see your armor is more Nordic than Dunmer, so you must be a traveler.”

“Scores to set. It’s all good now.” She miraculously managed not to shiver, remembering what she went through the past weeks. 

“Ladies…” A stocky Nord waddled up to their table, attempting to act suave.

“Beat it.” Aza grunted.

“I said ‘ladies’, not you, she-ogre.” The drunken sailor was of the lippy type.

The heroine stood up, as he apparently hadn’t seen her in her full, athletic glory in the dim light of the lower deck.

“You want company, handsome?” She asked, with dare. “Because I’m something you’ll never forget. You’ll be waking up with a scream for the rest of your life after a night with me.” 

Since she was taller and in an apparent mood for a brawl, the man muttered an excuse and retreated, accompanied by laughter from some of the other crewmen.

“All talk.” She sat heavily, the bench creaked. “Until you dare them to actually do something.”

Saabi smiled barely noticeably. Yes, this woman was perfect for the job. Kemon will surely agree to hire her.


	8. I Know You

A Danwguard crossbow was a weapon to be reckoned with. The highwayman trying to ambush the front of the caravan found that out the hard way. A bolt straight in the left ear ended his brief, troubled life. His associates were shot down by the archers of the caravan guard, and that was the end of the brief waylay. 

It was the second day since the caravan set out from Solitude, and already the Nord knew this was no ordinary job. Kemon was constantly alert, his men went out on short scout outings, by night an oddly large number of sentinels was deployed. Erik didn’t suspect it was for protecting some precious cargo, he was positive they were on a lookout for someone. He didn’t ask, he got the feeling the less he knew the better.

The mare neighed joyfully. Erik once again praised the weapon for its impact and accuracy. He strapped it back to the side of his saddle, next to the sack with bolts. Though he wasn’t a marksman, a crossbow was handy when one needed to do some damage while on horseback. An axe would be too heavy to swing and maintain balance.

“That was a perfect shot!” Kemon praised, catching up on his horse; a beautiful white Hammerfell stallion.

“Bows aren’t my specialty, but that crossbow saved my ass more than once.” He replied, patting his mount’s neck. 

“That is a fine horse.” The Redguard noted. “There are some of the best stables on Hammerfell, but I admire the equines of your homeland.”

“Really?” He raised a brow. 

Redguard horses were nothing the hero had ever seen. They were smaller than horses found on Skyrim, with slimmer legs, longer necks and shapelier heads. They were quicker and more agile, yet the climate was obviously alien to them. Their hooves were too small and delicate for the mud and snow, and their hides too thin for the cold, so they had to wear warm horsecloths. 

“I do not mock, friend. Your mare might not be as elegant as our horses, but she’s durable and knows her rider. That’s what truly defines a good horse. Well, there is also pedigree, but this isn’t a contest.”

Erik nodded, still alert of the surroundings. This was a large caravan, there were enough scumbags out there who would risk attacking it for whatever it was peddling.

“Is Windhelm a fine city?” The Redguard asked, curious of the land.

“Big, cold and icy. And not just because of the snow.” The Nord answered briefly.

“I hear the rebel leader has his seat there.”

“Jarl Ulfric? Yes, Windhelm is his city, just as Jarl Elisif calls Solitude her home.”

“The war ravages your land as much as it does mine.” The caravanier sighed with sorrow.

Erik gave him another look. Kemon was something between late forties and early fifties. Although he wore robes, he had gauntlets and boots made of ebony and on his hip was a Dwemer war axe. His head was bald, though he had a wiry beard, fashioned in a long braid, ending with a string of red leather stripes. His face was constantly focused, his light gray eyes were unusual for a Redguard, peering into them made one feel instantly guilty of some major offense.

The rest of the caravan composed of guards, some merchants and women. All were natives to Hammerfell. The only other non-Redguard was the caravan’s cook; a sordid Bosmer man, who continued complaining about the quality of meals he had to make. 

Other members of the caravan stirred clear of the hero. Was it either because of his role, or mayhap because he was a Nord, Erik didn’t know. And he didn’t care. His job was to get them safely and quietly to Windhelm, not make friends. Though, he did notice some of the women kept staring at him, commenting how strange it was his hair was like copper. He brushed it off, despite some of those dusky honeys seemed worthy of knowing better. 

“Tell me, if I might ask, are you curious of our purpose?” The merchant inquired.

“Nope. As long as you don’t try to slit my throat in my sleep and leave my naked, robbed body somewhere off the road, I’m good.”

“Ah, I see that you are a wise man indeed.” Kemon laughed. “My wife would like you.” He added with a smile. Erik didn’t ask why he hadn’t met Kemon’s wife. “She likes people with a sense of humor, no matter how dark. Speaking of which, we should set out camp, there’s no use travelling by night. Is there any place where we wouldn’t be exposed?”

The Nord consulted his map. After two days of travel at this pace, they just passed Dragon Bridge, entering less populated terrain. There should be a place large and remote enough to safely camp. Whilst the men set out the tents, he maintained his distance and groomed his horse.

“What?” He puffed, seeing her stare at the beautiful, shiny Hammerfell horses. “Forget them, girl. They might be slim and pretty, but you are the bravest and strongest of them all. Just wait until the snow get’s really thick, we’ll see how they’ll handle that.”

The bay mare snorted at him with a pleased nicker. Erik tenderly ruffled her mane. He couldn’t see, but he was observed by a pair of clever blue eyes. The person who watched him banter with his horse was an old acquaintance, though he had no recollection of their meeting.

The girl minced her sleeve, it was him, no doubt about it: the man who saved her from three thugs in the woods near Solitude. It was months ago, but she still remembered the fear and humiliation, after a silver-tongued rogue convinced her to meet him in the woods by night, with her mother’s life savings. She was fooled and almost ravaged, weren’t it for the red-haired adventurer who swooped in and beheaded the bastard and his two fellow bandits.

And after he was done, he just… told her to go. Ignored her. And instead of thanking, she yelled at him. She felt foolish for screaming obscenities at him, instead of showing gratitude, but she was so scared back then. She regretted her rudeness, mayhap if she’d be friendlier, the striking hero would take her with him, far away from her parents and the cursed caravan life. 

She sighed. The whole adventure was unpleasant, but thankfully she managed to sneak back to camp and slide mother’s satchel back where it belonged; into the travel chest. Neither mother nor father noticed or suspected anything, so she was safe and slowly the whole incident faded away.

And now he was here. Why? This couldn’t be mere coincidence! He must have seen her in Solitude and decided to join the caravan to speak to her! He could pretend to be unaware of her presence, but she was positive the adventurer fancied her! Oh, when will he finally approach her and confess he missed her ever since he saved her life and chastity? She couldn’t wait!

“What are you doing, dear?” Father asked, patting her shoulder. The girl jumped.

“Nothing. I’m just… bored.” She quickly lied.

“Bored?” Father’s gray eyes flickered. “Well then, why don’t you help the women prepare coffee for everyone?” He suggested.

“Father…” Her face had a sour look. Father’s answer to everything was always chores.

“Come on, help with the coffee and then take care of your pet. I bet she’s bored as well.”

“And cold.” The girl added, before rushing off to the bonfire where the women were busy with the aromatic brew.

Kemon observed his daughter disappearing behind one of the tents. She was a good lass, just a bit impulsive and stubborn for his taste. Just like her mother. He shrugged it off and called the Nord.

“Yes?” Erik asked, finishing braiding his mount’s tail.

“Come, join us.” The Redguard beckoned. 

“I don’t mean to fuss.”

“I insist. You’re our guide, not a beggar. And if you’re in the mood, might you entertain me with a bit of conversation? I’m very much interested in your land and customs.”

Despite his protest, Erik was lead by Kemon to the main bonfire, where there was already a feast waiting on the divans laid around the fire. He sat down, accepted a bowl and ate, whilst Kemon was busy chatting with Abdal, the head of his guards; a burly, but strangely well-spoken man with the brim of his left ear ragged. Erik’s guess was an arrow missing the man’s eye by an inch. He focused on his food; a spicy stew prepared by the Bosmer.

“Tell me, Erik, is it true your land is now home to dragons?” The caravanier asked, after they both finished their meal.

“Was.” The adventurer replied.

“What do you mean ‘was’?” The Redguard was intrigued.

“The Dragonborn took care of them.” He explained, feeling uncomfortable. He was a part of it, but no one would ever believe him.

“Dragonborn? Forgive me, our caravan first travelled north, to High Rock, then east, and was grounded near Solitude for several months, so we don’t know much of your history and beliefs. We… tend to keep to ourselves.”

“The Dragonborn is the Nord’s fabled dragonslayer.” Abdal cut in. “I… Well, me and the boys went out to a tavern some time ago and heard the bard sing.” He added with a grin.

“Tavern, you say.” Kemon shot his guard a sharp look.

“It wasn’t my turn to keep watch, so I am excused.”

“That remains up to debate, but we’ll talk about it later.” He motioned closer to Erik. “Tell us more, friend. We’re all curious.

Now did the hero notice some of the guards and women were sitting around the fire, waiting for him to spin a tale.

“Well… I don’t think I’m the right person to ask, I’m just an adventurer. I don’t think I can do the hero justice.” He tried to backpedal. “All I know the Dragonborn is a mortal with the blood of a dragon, can consume dragon souls and use the Voice. And they’re the only one worthy enough to slay Alduin.”

“Satakal.” Kemon corrected. “At least, that is our name for the force that destroys one world, to make room for the new one.”

“Thank you, but I like this world very much.” Erik’s nose crinkled.

“So do we!” Abdal laughed, the crowd applauded. “Do you sing songs?”

“I know them, but I have too much respect for them to sing.” The Nord joked. 

It was enough to dull the crowd’s interest. Abdal and Kemon exchanged some words, going through their supplies and guessing the weather for the upcoming journey. Erik was left to himself, he reached towards the fire, warming his palms. 

“A drink, my lord?” A young voice asked.

Erik turned to his right, facing a young girl, offering him a small ceramic cup. She had astonishingly blue eyes. She was strangely familiar, but he couldn’t pin a name to her face. She had pouty lips, her hair was long, fastened in a large bun, fixed together with colorful scarves. She was fourteen at least and still had some baby fat on her.

“What’s that?” He asked, accepting the cup.

“It keeps sleep at bay.” She revealed with a wide smile.

“Thank you.”

“Do you know stories?” She sat on the edge of the divan he was occupying.

“A lot. Though, I don’t think you’d like them.” He politely tried to end the conversation.

“What makes you so sure?” She shook her head, he noticed she had several piercings in her ears.

“Zeba!” Kemon’s harsh voice was heard. “Leave the man, can’t you see he’s tired?”

That name! Erik gripped the cup hard enough to feel the heat painfully on his palm. The girl pouted and in a second she was gone.

“Forgive my daughter. She’s not nosy, just very curious.” The Redguard apologized.

“No harm done.” The adventurer tried to keep his tone casual. 

Maybe it was a coincidence? Maybe she wasn’t that certain girl named Zeba. After all, his own name was relatively popular. He took a sip of the mystery drink and almost gagged. It wasn’t too hot, but incredibly bitter.

“Not your kind of beverage?” The caravanier patted his back.

“What is this?” Erik coughed, but hadn’t let go of the cup. Maybe the next sip will be more pleasant? It wasn’t.

“Coffee. It’s a popular drink on Hammerfell. The beans grow on Valenwood, but it was Redguards who mastered the art of brewing and drinking it. Sadly, ever since Hammerfell succeeded, the price of the beans rose.”

“It’s not bad… Maybe with a shot of milk and some honey?” Erik tried to be polite.

“Ah, you Nords and your sweet teeth!” Kemon drank his own coffee with a smirk.

There was a subtle laugh, as if a giggle of a woman. Erik felt someone nudge his back. He looked over his shoulder to see who it could be and faced the strangest… and ugliest animal he had ever seen.

It was a strange type of wolf… but it didn’t seem one. It was grayish-brown, spotted, with large, round ears resembling that of a bear. It had a dumb-looking short maw and an arched back, with a mane going through its length. Its large, round eyes stared at him with all the stupidity the creature could muster, its sharp teeth had bits of fresh meat between them.

“What in Oblivion…?”

“Aza! Go away!” Kemon bend forward and slapped the beast’s nose. The animal laughed and scuttled away.

Aza?? This evening was getting stranger and stranger. The Nord shook his head in confusion.

“What was that? I hadn’t seen it before.” He asked shocked.

“My daughter’s pet. You hadn’t seen her, because she was out hunting. But don’t worry, hyenas have a good sense of smell, she’ll always find a way back to us.”

“Hyena? That’s what you call them?” He asked, looking over his shoulder again, but the beast was out of the ring of light the bonfire cast.

“Yes, though that’s actually what city Redguards call them. Most of us in this caravan come from desert tribes. Our name for hyena alpha females is ‘aza’, so that’s how my daughter decided to name her pet.”

“I see. Could you tell me something more about them?”

“And would you tell me something more about the bears that roam your forests? For us they’re normal and uninteresting, but I can understand you’re curious. They’re matriarchal, the females run the pack. They’re rumored to be scavengers, but can hunt when there’s no other choice. They have a powerful bite, believe me, and could snap your femur like a chicken’s bone. There are many myths surrounding the unusual sounds they make.”

“It sounded like a laugh.”

“Indeed. They laugh even when angry or scared… Why so curious all of the sudden?”

The adventurer took a gulp of the bitter brew to hide his frown, but Kemon was patient.

“My mate has the same name.”

“Ah, then she must be a feisty one.” The man laughed. Apparently, that name on a person meant nothing to him.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Erik rubbed the back of his head, feeling a migraine.

\---

“Everything okay?” Aza asked, offering Kazi her shoulder. The woman accepted with relief.

“I’m fine, it’s just that I’m growing tired of feeling like this.” She said embarrassed. “Please, make no note of me, I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Nonsense!” Aza assured, helping the woman to her bunk. “You deserve all the help and comfort you need.”

The three of them were in a small cabin Saabi managed to pay for with her last coin. Kazi sighed and made herself comfortable, stroking her belly. The rocking of the ship was thankfully soothing to her and she soon fell asleep.

“Tell me” Saabi started conversation, after making sure her sister was sound asleep. “What are your plans after we arrive to Windhelm?”

“I’m… supposed to meet my partner. I have no idea what’s next.” The heroine confessed, crossing her arms. The room was so small, that the two of them sat on the floor, their knees touching.

“Could you possibly consider escorting a caravan?” Saabi suggested, trying not to sound too eager. 

“Caravan? Like, a desert merchant caravan?” Aza rose her brows.

“Yes, like the ones back on Hammerfell.”

“Here, on Skyrim?” She grew surprised.

“I cannot offer details unless you agree.” The woman conditioned.

“I’ll think about it…” Aza dodged the question. “I have some heart-to-heart to do first.”

“I see.” Saabi nodded. “I too have to have a talk with my husband. I hope he’s doing well without me. Oh, he’s a wise man, he just needs…”

“Careful guidance.” Aza grinned. Men, however strong and wise they thought they were, they still needed someone level-headed by their side.

“Exactly. And I miss my little girl. Do you have children?” She asked curiously.

“Had.” The adventurer replied bitterly. Irrationally, she felt hurt by the question.

“I’m sorry.” Saabi quickly backed away.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I almost forgot it myself.”

Kazi suddenly sat on the bunk, interrupting the awkward silence that filled the cabin.

“Morwha, I’m hungry!” She gasped embarrassed. “Do we have anything to eat?”

Saabi laughed, offering her a platter with dry, but still good apples.

\---

“See those walls? That’s Windhelm.” Erik said, pointing at the city in the distance. “Less than a day of travel.”

“It looks magnificent.” Kemon straightened up in his saddle to get a better look. 

“The trip has been safe so far.” Abdal said with relief. “I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad.”

“You leave thinking to me.” Kemon said firmly. “Just let us set up camp, and you’ll get your gold.” He addressed their guide.

The caravan settled near a frozen waterfall, sheltered from any unwanted attention by one of the last rocky hills. Now did the native people and horses to Hammerfell experience the cruel climate of Skyrim in its fullest. The road from Haafingar to Eastmarch was surprisingly smooth, save for some random animal attacks and another desperate group of outlaws. But there were no losses and eventually, they got to their destination.

“Thank you for leading us here safely.” The Redguard thanked, presenting Erik with a silk coinpurse. “And… for your secrecy.”

“I’m just a simple traveler. Whatever your purpose is, I needn’t know. I have my own problems to take care of.” He said, accepting payment. “I’ll be on my way now.” 

“I bid you good fortune, then.” 

They exchanged some final pleasantries, before the adventurer tended to his horse. He made sure he had all his belongings packed before setting off to the City of Kings.

“You’re leaving?” He heard a surprised call.

Zeba appeared from behind the mare. He clenched his muscles, trying to avoid finding any similarities in her features. He was still uncertain whether her name was just a coincidence. After all, the name ‘Aza’ meant nothing to Kemon.

“Yes.” He tried to deprive his voice of any emotion. 

She stared at him, biting her lip. Her shoulder met with the mare’s chest, the mount’s eats erect alarmed. Tension was in the air. 

“Will you take me with you?” She pleaded, her cheeks burned.

What? It seemed crazy women found him just their type. He helplessly looked around, but there was no one near where the horses were resting. Oh, what was he doing? She was just a lass, silly and naive. Why was he so lenient with her? 

“No.” He refused boldly.

“Why?” Her tone suggested she was certain he’ll agree. “Why did you join our caravan in the first place, if not for me?”

“What?” He grew confused. “Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I agreed, because I was heading to Windhelm anyway, and could use the coin. That is it.”

“Gods…” Zeba took a step back, realizing he had no memory of their first meeting. “You don’t remember me!” Her fists clenched. “You don’t remember saving me from bandits in the woods near Solitude!” She almost cried.

“I…” Erik searched his memory. “I do remember saving a girl near Solitude, but I still don’t remember you. I just did the right thing. Besides, it was dark.”

“You oaf!” She yelled, tears ran down her cheeks. The horse was startled, but he held its reins with confidence. “Go then, you vagrant! See if I care!” 

Zeba spun and ran to the rest of the caravan, leaving Erik speechless. He quickly shook it off and got in his saddle. He had more pressing matters, than bothering with high hopes of some naive girl… Who was possibly his mate’s daughter.

\---

He was on his way from the docks to the upper district. He was told by one of the sailors that the ship from Solstheim is due in another few hours, so he had some time to spare. He decided to eat wholesome Nordic cuisine at Candlehearth Hall, paying no mind to how overpriced the place was. Then, he could contemplate a bit in the temple. 

Hours flew by, and he had just exited the sanctuary. He still had some time to kill, so he decided to wander the city. Though it was getting dark, he went down the icy steps leading to the cemetery. He just wanted to use it as a shortcut to reach the opposite end of the city, but then the strangest thing happened.

He walked at an energetic pace, when from behind one of the tombstones a young lassie appeared. She gasped loudly, seeing a stranger with an axe approaching her out of nowhere.

“Sorry!” Erik said immediately, taking a step back. “Sorry, miss, didn’t mean to scare you. Just passing by.” He made an apologetic grimace, turning right, where the alley would take him out of the cemetery.

He was unaware of it, but the girl’s name was Nilsine, and she was of the well-known and respected house Shatter-Shield. She had lost her twin sister to a lunatic over a year ago. Ever since, her mother drowned her sorrow in drink, neglecting her remaining daughter. Father just became more distant. Nilsine grew up used to being the second favorite child, yet after Friga died she hoped something would change. 

But nothing had changed. Nilsine sometimes felt as if she hadn’t existed at all. No one would give her the slightest bit of attention. She had no desire to be at the center of attention at all times, but desperately wanted to be noticed. 

One evening she was walking home after a particularly slow day. She hadn’t sold any flowers from her basket, and now they were half-weathered and useless. It was late and few people were out, most were already in their homes or at the inn. Nilsine passed a lowly beggar, who had lost his legs at the Great War. The man lamely shook his bowl, but she had no gold on her.

Looking back, she had no idea why she acted the way she did. She threw her basket on the ground and stomped with blind fury. Then, she looked the beggar straight in his colorless eyes and pulled her skirt up. She feverishly masturbated in front of the lowlife, until she came like never before. Her orgasm gave the relaxation and bliss she needed so bad, but never received from another.

The beggar stared with his mouth opened, but hadn’t made the slightest move the whole time the girl pampered her pussy in from of him. When she was done, he cleared his throat and stared down at the stumps that were once his legs, until she was gone.

This became their strange, silent ritual. Whenever Nilsine needed to feel important for someone, or just relieve some stress, she would seek the hobo and show off in front of him. They never spoke a word, and the beggar never reached out to touch her. He knew the moment he would, the lass would get scared and flee, never gracing his bleak life again.

But Windhelm was a cruel city. A few days ago, she found her silent admirer froze to death overnight. Funny, she never learned his name, she didn’t even know the sound of his voice. But the death of the anonymous vagrant was a blow to her already crippled heart.

Tonight was the worst. She couldn’t stay at home, she needed to get out. She thought visiting her sister’s grave would be a good idea, but felt little comfort whispering confessions to the cold tombstone. It dawned upon her, that the only reason she would visit Friga’s grave, was to wallow in self-pity.

And here was this strange man, no doubt a traveler. They were alone in the stillness of the cemetery. It was late, little chance someone would be passing by. The stranger was backing away, apparently convinced he scared her. With Nilsine’s every drumming heartbeat ,he was getting farther and farther away from her.

“Wait!” She called out at an impulse. “Please, don’t leave.” She pleaded, feeling blood rush faster through her head.

“Why, are you in trouble, miss?” He asked, halting. 

Damn it, this was a cemetery, it was late, and she was a young and pretty thing. How stupid of him not asking, just to make his conscience clear, if she was alright.

“Please don’t speak.” Nilsine felt numbingly relaxed. It was time for a show. “But don’t go. Just… watch.”

She stepped from behind the waist-high tombstone and tiptoed closer to a memorial wall. Her rump pressed against a plaque in the stone with a name of a long-dead queen on it. She looked around just to make sure, then unlaced the front of her dress.

“Whoa there!” Erik raised his hands to stop her. “You don’t need to do that to make me help you.”

“Don’t come any closer!” She cried, suddenly startled. “Please, just keep looking.”

Erik froze dumbfounded. What was going on? Was this an ambush? He tensed, but he was certain they were alone. Was she insane? Or drunk? Or… wow, that was some fine pussy.

Nilsine pulled her skirt up and tugged behind her belt. She wore no undergarments, which was strange for someone living in a city as cold as Windhelm. She supported her back against the wall and pushed her hips forward, straddling her legs. She had a bouncy ass and thighs, her vulva was just a tiny slit between her flushed cheeks. 

She impatiently freed her breasts from the uncomfortable dress, they jiggled hypnotizing slow before setting. She cooed softly, stroking her outer lips. On a whim, she reached behind her head and let her brown hair loose. With half-shut eyes she made sure the stranger was looking at her, but it wasn’t her cunt he was marveling at.

“Don’t look at my face!” She gasped heavily, blushing. “Look at my pussy, but not my face.” She pleaded, growing embarrassed. 

Erik coughed, but gave in to her request. His eyes went from her feverish face, down her shamefully exposed tits, to her now full-spread vulva. She was incredibly wet in such a short moment. She was now running her fingers up and down her slit faster and faster, coating them in the clear juices. A lot of it streamed between her ass-cheeks, moistening her asshole. She dared to moan louder, reaching for her breast. She pushed it up and suckled on her nipple, fiercely biting into the pale, barely distinguishable areola. 

She could feel his eyes piercing right into her very womb. Dear Gods, he was watching her! And he liked it! When he’ll leave, he will be thinking of her for a long time, possibly even dream of her tonight. Have her full, bouncy tits under his eyelids, and her ripe, overflowing cunt imprinted in his brain.

She noticed an icicle hanging from one of the nearby statues. Without hesitation she reached for it and cracked off the stone. She then proceeded to suckle on it loudly, until the tip was blunt enough to be safe.

She stuffed the length of the ice into her flaming pussy, crying with pleasure when the cold met with her hot insides. The ice began to melt quickly, wet streams of water and vaginal essence flew down her fingers and legs, steaming in the cold air, forming a glistening puddle between her legs. Gods, almost there!

The hero feasted his eyes on the girl fucking herself with the impressive icicle until it was short and thin. When Nilsine realized she used up her toy, she grunted like a madwoman and brutally shoved her fingers inside, almost her whole palm went in. She snapped them rapidly, feeling her walls tremble, her cervix swell.

She came. Divines, how did she come! All the water that remained within gushed out with a loud spurt. She quivered, but managed to maintain balance, her fingers still deep inside her. She realized she drooled a bit, but was still relishing on this forbidden pleasure.

She was dirty, possibly even a bit crazy. Oh, but how good she felt right now! He was still gawking, he saw the whole thing. And she was sure he’ll never forget it.

“Oooh…!” She let out a relieved moan, sliding down the wall. She rested on her ass in the wet mess she made below herself. “Ah…” She looked up at the traveler, at his clear blue eyes and confused look. “Thank you. I’m all good now.”

Erik rubbed his hindhead. This was one of the strangest things to happen to him, and he saw a lot of strange things.

“I better get going.” Was all he could say.

\---

He wasted enough time at the cemetery, the ship was bound to sail to Windhelm soon. He went back the way he came, only to find a familiar figure standing at the stone pier at the docks.

“Kemon.” He said surprised, approaching the Redguard. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for a ship.” The man stated the obvious, no more surprised. “And you?”

“The same.”

They stood side by side awkwardly. There were only a few people at the docks, mostly sailors and merchants.

“My wife is on that ship.” Kemon confessed to break the eerie silence, unaware he made Erik’s insides suddenly feel cold.

“Really? I was wondering why I hadn’t met her.” He replied breathlessly.

“Yes, she and I have been apart for so long… It feels like years.” The Redguard said with a sigh. “We… had some troubles, and we were forced to be apart for some time. But now she’s coming back.” He went on, his face softened.

“I’m surprised you came here all by yourself.” The Nord managed to utter through clenched teeth.

“It wouldn’t be wise to draw much attention to myself. I thought about taking Zeba with me, but she was strangely moody today. Oh, my wife must miss her, she hadn’t seen her for so long, she might be surprised the young lady Zeba is growing to be is her daughter.” 

Erik felt like Kemon spat in his face. This couldn’t be mere coincidence. He really was her… husband. How did he learn of her?! What did he intend to do now? How… how dared he think he had any rights, after over ten years had passed? Did she know? How would she react seeing the both of them waiting for her?

“I don’t think she’s expecting me, I want to make this a surprise.” Kemon said, making things worse.

He eyed the man with newly found contempt. That bastard. Did he know Erik was her partner? If so, he was one false-hearted son of a bitch. If not, well he had no intention of backing off, letting Kemon handle things from here. She was his. His!

“You know, I’m surprised she’s sailing from Solstheim, since your caravan was stranded in Solitude.” He noted, failing to flush the venom from his voice.

“Forgive me for saying so, my friend, but that is none of your business.” Kemon replied defensively. “I can assume the mate you mentioned is also on that ship?” He asked, pointing at the vessel’s silhouette now visible on the horizon.

“Yeah. My mate.” He confirmed, stressing the word ‘my’.

There weren’t that many people around. Just one good swing and he could dump the body in the water. If anyone notices, bribe them, he had enough gold. Then grab Aza and be out of Windhelm as soon as possible. The boarder to Morrowind wasn’t that far, it was time to get out of Skyrim anyway. And never-ever breathe a word to her about Kemon finding her.

The ship was now at shouting distance. Erik braced himself for the inevitable.


	9. Tough Reunion

“I can see land!” Surprisingly, it was the shy Kazi who spoke first.

“Yep.” Aza agreed.

Windhelm. Cold and unpleasant. She had a feeling this is the last time she visits the City of Kings. Good riddance! But first, there was the matter of the unpleasant meeting she had to go through.

Saabi was absentminded, staring at the frozen city drawing nearer with every minute. She seemed excited.

“Don’t mind her.” Kazi said with a smile. “She misses her husband and daughter.” She bowed her head and looked at her pronounced baby bump. “I’m happy for her.” She added quieter, she could not hide her emotions.

It was obvious there won’t be any father waiting for her and her baby. The heroine didn’t want to interfere. Just get them safely on dry land, get paid. Then worry about your own problems.

The ship was about to dock, everyone onboard prepared for departure. First seagulls screamed, flying over the sails.

\---

 _“What is wrong with me?!”_ Erik suddenly realized. _“I’m considering murdering a man who did me no wrong… Aside from sleeping with her years ago and thinking he can sleep with her again.”_

He mentally beat his outrage down. This was not the place nor time. If his dark prediction becomes even darker reality… Then he’ll think what to do. For now all he could do was wait.

The ship sailed into the port, the sails were dirty. The footbridge was cast, first people descended to the stone pier. This was it.

“If you could” Kemon addressed him, keeping an eye on the growing stream of travelers and sailors, “I’d like you to stay for a longer moment and meet my wife.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss that for nothing.” He replied, maintaining a facade of control.

\---

“Finally!” Saabi breathed with relief when it was their turn to leave the ship. She forgot all about her sister and went first, the footbridge was steep.

“No worries, I got you.” Aza comforted Kazi. “Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.”

“Thank you.” The woman brushed her hair back with embarrassment. In her condition keeping balance was a difficult task.

“Come on.” She gently put her hands on her shoulders. “I want off this boat more than you know.”

They advanced down the slope. Kazi joined her sister on the pier, but Saabi was too busy trying to find her husband in the crowd.

“I’m really thankful for all you did for us.” The pregnant woman expressed, halting Aza who also wanted to find a certain someone. “This… was a perilous journey for us. More than you know.” She dared confess, suddenly feeling weary. 

“Whoa, there.” The adventurer supported her, the stones were slippery. “Slow down, catch your breath.”

“Saabi!” A man called out.

“Kemon!” She cried.

Wait, what?

Kazi picked the worst time to lose her balance. Aza wrapped her arms around her and looked over her shoulder to where she heard the exchange of names.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. The man holding Saabi tight and looking over her shoulder straight at Aza couldn’t be…

“I’m sorry!” Kazi gently pulled herself away, mindful of her abdomen. “Is everything alright?” She asked concerned, seeing the look on the heroine’s face.

“No.” Was the answer.

\---

He spotted her amongst the sea of sailors and travelers. It wasn’t difficult; her armor and posture stuck out immediately. She was busy helping some unknown Redguard woman down the footbridge. That other woman was visibly with child. Did she lose weight during those two months? Divines, she looked miserable.

Kemon stepped forward. No, no, no… Don’t say her name! Don’t…!

“Saabi!” He called out.

Saabi? Of course, the wretch obviously had a different name when… When she was his wife.

“Kemon!” A woman cried, but it wasn’t her.

Saabi was the name of a woman he hadn’t noticed before. She looked like a healer, her robes were similar to Kemon’s. He walked up to her and tightly embraced. At the same moment Aza kept the woman she was escorting from slipping on the ice. She caught her, staring at Saabi’s back, and in Kemon’s face. She tensed, her eyes were wide open. She recognized him. Erik she paid no mind, she probably didn’t even notice him.

So it was true. The ridiculous, impossible situation just happened… With an unexpected twist.

He had to get to her before anyone else does. He marched forward, but was stopped by a sudden band of merchants complaining about the raise of taxes on their goods. The merchants separated him from her like a wall. He cursed, but couldn’t walk around them. When they passed there was only the woman she was accompanying left.

“Where did she go?” He breathed, leaping towards her. Miraculously, he didn’t slip on the ice himself.

“I…” Kazi stared wide-eyed at his scar and the axe’s handle. She stepped back, frightened for some unknown reason. She protected her belly as if he wanted to attack her. 

Forget her! He noticed a trail Aza’s cape left on the snow. She couldn’t be far.

\---

Saabi fell into his arms. Tall Papa, it was good to see her again! Alive and safe. He feared for her and Kazi’s safety ever since he was forced to send them on a ship to Solstheim.

Speaking of which, where was Kazi? She was in the arms of some woman who looked like a mercenary. Their eyes locked. Why was that woman staring at him like that? There was something familiar about that face, but he never saw a woman as… damaged as this one. 

The realization wasn’t as sudden as a strike with a fist. It came slowly, resurfaced like a numbing toothache as Kemon recognized more and more about her. He knew that face. She was over ten years older, her hair shorter since he last saw her…

_The night was windless, not a cloud obstructed the sky over the Alik’r Desert. The caravan was attacked, only three of them left. Zeba, around three years old, cried. Her voice pierced his ears, her soft round face was covered in tears, sand was sticking to the wet streams on her cheeks._

_There was only one wagon with the last horse left. There was blood on the front, the reins were slippery. The coachman was the first one to die from the orcish ambushers._

_“Go!” She yelled at him._

_“I can’t leave you!” He yelled back, but against his will he sat Zeba on the wagon._

_“Damn it, save her!” She reprimanded as a goodbye._

_She didn’t say anything comforting, no last ‘I love you’. It was so typical of her. She turned around and rushed where the stench of blood was the worst. He jumped onboard the carriage and took the reins. The horse screamed, taking them into the night._

_He rode until the sun rose over the dunes. Zeba was asleep, crying wore her out. He knew he had to ride for Sentinel. They hadn’t water save for what was left in a leather sack left on the wagon. There wasn’t enough to go back and check if she was still alive. Even if she survived, there wasn’t enough water for the three of them._

_Zeba’s life was too precious to risk. He took one last look back, then screamed at the horse and rode for Sentinel._

It was her! She was alive! How? How did she survive? And how did she get here? Was this a coincidence, or did she catch wind of them and their caravan? No, the look on her face was as surprised as his. And then it was filled with the very pain he felt himself.

Some people passed, breaking their gaze.

“Where’s the eunuch?” Kemon asked colorlessly, after Saabi was done with hugging him.

“He didn’t board the ship with us.” She replied, for a second there was fright in her voice. “But we found someone who agreed to escort us here safely… Oh.” She noticed her sister was alone. “Kazi, what’s wrong?” She asked, approaching her shaken sister. “Where’s Aza?”

“I don’t know. She suddenly acted strange and left. Then some man with an axe approached me and demanded to know where she went. He frightened me.” She said, almost crying. In her condition she was very fragile.

A man with an axe? Kemon searched around, Erik left. And that meant… 

\---

Aza blindly walked the icy steps. What was going on? How was it possible? Was this some cruel joke? How could this be happening?! This was all like bad dream, all her old wounds suddenly opening under the new ones.

She felt dizzy, she needed to sit down. She crouched near some nets and old barrels, they smelled of salt and fish. Pressing her cheek to the cold wall helped a bit.

 _“A small push, Dovahkiin.”_ She suddenly remembered a prophecy given to her by Fjotra, Dibella’s Sybil. _“No more, no less. What you do with it is up to you.”_

Of course… The circumstances were too cruel and ironic to be mere coincidence. This wasn’t a chance meeting. This was… fate. The Divines again played with the strings of her life! How dared they! She did all they wanted her to do, wasn’t it enough?? Hadn’t they enough of her suffering and sacrifice?! 

She jolted up and ran with no fixed direction, all she wanted was to get away as soon as possible.

\---

Lortheim was a humble priest of Talos. And he was damned proud of his station. His service was devoted, his sermons full of fire. Windhelm and all of Skyrim were in a difficult time, faith and courage were what the people needed the most. He delivered as best as he could. 

He was walking back to his quarters in the Temple of the One, after visiting the Gray Quarter. The Dunmer were a hard bunch to convert, most worshipped their unholy Tribunal. Still, comfort in faith and prayer was the least he could offer them in their difficult situation. 

He passed a lurching vagrant. His shoulder brushed against her pauldron, he felt an unpleasant tingling down his spine.

“Hey!” He heard when he was two steps ahead of her.

“Y-yes?” He asked, turning around.

“You’re a priest, right?” She asked gravely, shooting him a deadly glare.

“That I am.” He said truthfully, trying not to sound alarmed. 

The air was pushed out of his lungs, as the woman slammed him against the wall.

“You think those fuckers up there like messing with me?” She rasped, spraying saliva over his face. “Huh? Do they? Because it seems they’ll do everything to see me break! Well, you know what? I won’t. And I won’t let them play with my life and my head, you hear me? I WON’T!”

She ended her chaotic tirade so abnormally loud, that ice chunked off the walls and rooftops. Somewhere a window broke. Someone cried a curse, a cat mewled.

“You tell them to finally leave me alone, priest.” She demanded with a mad gleam.

She then shoved him aside like a ragdoll and stormed away. Lortheim slid down the wall and sat on the cold pavement. What just happened? What was that rambling about? Who was that? Talos, he wanted to go home and lay down next to his wife. She was right telling him the Gray Quarter was dangerous this late.

There were loud footsteps, a man approached.

“Where did she go?” He asked, panting.

“What?” Lortheim was too disturbed by what just happened to think straight.

“Dam it, don’t test my patience!” Erik grabbed him by the front of his robe and pulled up. “Where did she go? I heard her voice, I know she was here just a moment ago! Talk!”

The priest opened his mouth but couldn’t utter a word. Instead, he pointed at the direction where the scary woman went. Erik muttered a curse and released him, pursuing Aza. Lortheim fell to his knees shaking.

\---

She couldn’t remember how she got before Calixto’s House of Curiosities. She was in luck; the Windhelm’s serial killer’s faux museum was still unoccupied. She reached to a pouch she had with miscellaneous items such as old keys she collected during her travels. Calixto’s key was somehow still in her possession.

The lock grated, but gave in. She pulled the door, but it was abruptly closed by a palm that slammed next to her hand on the doorknob. A familiar scent flushed her, only adding to her problems.

“Nothing you’ll say can make me feel worse.” She said tiredly.

“Who said I’m here to talk?”

She spun and got a firm grab of him. They locked eyes; both looked like they wanted to kill the other. She gnashed her teeth, kicking the door and pushing him inside. He was quick enough to grab her by the wrist and pull with himself to the floor. A cloud of dust rose when they rolled on the dirty flooring. Grunting and cursing, they struggled in the dark until Erik hit his head on a table leg. Aza used this to her advantage and jolted away.

“What the fuck is going on?!” She screamed, dashing to a safer distance.

“I have no idea. I’m as confused as you!” Erik screamed back at her, standing up.

“Confused? Are you kidding me?!” Aza laughed bitterly. “This isn’t something you can be confused about! I was turned inside out on that pier!!”

She punched a wall. A meaningless painting fell down, the frame shattered.

“Look, I escorted them from Solitude to Windhelm, but I had no idea. I had my suspicions, but I thought the possibility was just too ridiculous to be true!”

“Them?” Her voice lowered dangerously.

“Kemon and his caravan.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! I don’t want to hear that name!” She screeched, losing her self control. 

“Oh, like it’s you who had it rough!” He growled, grabbing an ugly alabaster statue and smashing it against the door. “I thought you’re going to leave with him!”

“Sure, because he hadn’t moved on, right? Saabi!” She toppled a shelf with miscellaneous trash. “Her name is Saabi. I got her and her sister safely on dry land. She said she had no coin, but her husband will pay me for my help. Ironic, isn’t it?”

She suddenly recalled what Kazi told her about Saabi – the woman was excited to reunite with her daughter after being apart for so long… No. The Gods were as cruel as Daerdic Princes at heart. She felt like giving up and bashing her head against the walls until it smashes open. That, and howling until she goes mad.

But she could only shake her head in disbelief, numbed by pain.

“Yeah, I’m having a hard time controlling laughter.” Erik took his axe and plunged it into an antique, but terribly preserved throne. “I’m sorry.” He suddenly said, losing all the rage empowering him. “I got irrationally scared you’ll leave. Again. I was even considering…”

She sprinted to him and rammed herself at him. They stopped on a wall, on the other side something fell down and shattered. Possibly some other terrible exhibit. Aza was all over him, her heat was incredible.

“No, no, no!” She breathed feverishly, her lips and eyes were wet. “Don’t calm down. You fuck better when you’re angry.”

“You…” He roughly pulled her hair back. “I can’t believe the things you make me feel…!”

“Stop talking, I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to think. I want you to do things so bad to me, I’ll forget who I am.”

“My pleasure.”

After months of imagining what he would do to her, he finally had her! She was vulnerable and ready for everything. Divines, he’s going to leave all her holes gapping, she won’t be able to stand properly after he’s done with her! He turned her over and roughly pushed against the wall. The damned cape was in the way, so he folded it over her shoulder.

“Pants down.” He ordered, taking off his gauntlets and working his belt. 

She undid her pants and let them slide down all the way to her ankles. She straddled her legs as far as she could, sticking her ass out, with her hands flat on the wall, where he could see them. She felt cold, and realized how sweaty she was from all the stress and anger. She needed a good, rough distraction.

“Spread it for me.” Erik instructed further, groping her buttock, working his cock to a semi-erect state. 

Aza reached down, her hands were trembling. She couldn’t keep balance, so she had to firmly press her cheek to the rough wall, whilst she spread her pussy. There was no place on Solstheim she could groom herself, so her bush grew back, dark and thick. But between the black hairs there was her hot, swollen puce slit.

He stuffed two fingers in without warning, she sighed agitated, her rump pushed against him. It was obvious it hurt and she wanted it that way. Great, no complaints later. He loosened her, getting hard with her each sigh and grunt. No foreplay, he just wanted to be inside her as fast as possible, then come and flush out all the mates she had ever since Markarth.

He was hard enough, though still a bit flaccid, but he had no patience left. He roughly put her legs together, then grabbed her by the hips and jammed his dick between her thighs. He didn’t penetrate her yet, but couldn’t resist feeling her skin. She moaned with strain, feeling his grip on her hips, and his thighs keeping her legs together. She said nothing, bending further forward, letting him do whatever he pleased.

Erik looked down on her sweaty ass, her hands flat on the wall, her nails digging into the coarse wood. Mara, he dreamed, fantasized and longed to hammer her hard, but not like this. Now that they were here, he didn’t want revenge anymore. And how low would that make him? Gods, he wanted to do it like old times, like when everything was okay.

“I can’t do it like this.” He said embarrassed, giving her a light slap. “Turn over.”

She turned around, expecting him to say something, but he muffled her with his tongue. She finally moaned like she should; with pleasure. Her tongue welcomed his after being apart for so long. Erik intertwined his fingers with hers and pinned her hands above her head. His penis slipped up front between her legs, gliding against her hairy cunt. Yeah, this was more like it.

“Change of heart?” She breathed out, her pelvis grinded against him with eagerness. She bit her lip, feeling she was getting wet.

“After all we’ve been through, would you really want to do it like a couple of strangers? Come on, let’s find us a bed.”

He took her by the hand, and hilariously, as they both had their pants around their ankles, they tiptoed to the next room. There was a small, fur and hay covered bed there. They needn’t words to start throwing off their armors. The pauldrons and the likes hectically flew across the squalid room. The jade and emerald circlet rested on where the cape fell, followed by Kynareth’s amulet.

When they were done with all their clothing, they clashed. It was electrifying to feel the other’s skin after such a long time. Aza groped his back where his shoulder muscles were, scratching him and brushing her chest against his, feeling his thick hairs tickle her hard nipples.

“Are we gonna stand like this all night?” She asked when Erik just wouldn’t let go, massaging her ass and breathing into her ear.

“Just another minute” He muttered, snuggling his face between her shoulder and neck.

Neither of them noticed when he was sitting on the edge of the shaky bed with her on top of him. He insatiably sucked on her tits, grunting with pleasure. She sunk her fingers into his wonderfully red hair, her pussy overflowed, leaving marks on his groin and laps. She couldn’t take it anymore!

She wiggled her behind impatiently, wanting him to do the honors. Erik needn’t be asked twice. He got a grip of his base and slid inside in a blink, her vagina let out a moist sound, squirting juices. She gasped, then rocked her hips, bending back and almost falling off if it weren’t for him holding her by the hips. She missed that feeling of being completely filled up by that huge, veined, perfectly fitting cock.

Having wild, spontaneous sex with a temporary mate was great, but getting intimate with someone you know this well and close was just… Making her mind numb and her pussy rabid. She rode him, bouncing on his rock-hard rod, her clit grinding against his rough hairs, her womb getting hotter and…

“Wait, wait!” Aza cried in a spasm. But it was too late, she got too far and couldn’t stop from coming too fast like a newbie. She felt a shooting sensation through her abdomen, then a flood of contractions she couldn’t control. She yelped, giving up.

“What, what’s wrong? Wait, did you just…?” Erik asked in disbelief, when she clenched, quivered and suddenly laid on him exhausted. “Did you just come?”

“Shut up.” She shuttered, humiliated.

“Three minutes and you’re done?” He laughed like an idiot, she could feel his shaft move inside. “Oh, I missed you too.” He stroked her trembling back, then bit her ear. “I’ll make it quick, you just lay on me and look pretty.”

“You… Wait, I’m broke and have no potion, let go!” She protested, remembering this was her unsafe time of month and she had no precautions on her. And knowing him, he would generously show her how much he missed her.

“I’ll get you a whole batch first thing tomorrow, promise!” He said through clenched teeth. He’s not going to shoot his cum anywhere else than her pussy and that is final!

She was still sopping wet, her dews spurted out with his each thrust, streaming down his member and balls, spraying all around, sticking to their thighs and hairs. This was sloppy, hot and amazing! Despite the cold of Windhelm, the room felt stuffy, like a sauna. He kept pumping, gliding inside freely as he pleased; she was so outrageously wet and relaxed.

He started to feel it, soon just a minute or two! He’ll fill her up good enough to make her gush sperm for hours after they’re done. His glans swell, he could feel his muscles tense, preparing for a climax he hadn’t had in months.

“Waah!” She gasped surprised, feeling the first, hardest, stream exploding in her, creaming her up good. “Aw, fu…!” She could only giggle, too tired and restful to complain. “Aah… Mmm…” She finally purred, feeling the throbbing and ejaculating cease. Her stud was out of ammo.

“I think I just lost a pound or two.” Erik breathed, fighting dizziness. “You’re going to have to do some cleaning up, with that bush you grew.” He teased, before kissing her lazily.

“Look who’s talking! It’s dark but I can see yours! It’s like a damned forest fire down there!” Aza rebuked, finding strength to stand up. 

Just as expected, she oozed his seed and her juices, he couldn’t see too clear in the gloom, but he could hear it pouring to the floor. And that smell! Were it of two other people, he wouldn’t be allured by it, but knowing it’s the smell of the two of them, he was entranced by that unique aroma.

She found her cape and unstrapped it from her pauldrons, putting the circlet and amulet aside. In the meantime, Erik made himself comfortable on the creaking bed. The furs were old and the hay beneath stung, but there was nothing else.

Aza snug herself next to him and covered them both with the warm cape. She felt exhausted and sleepy. She also felt three diagonal slashes, when her hands wandered his chest and abdomen.

“What’s that?” She asked, running her fingers against the barely healed cuts.

“That? Gargoyle got me.” Erik replied carelessly. “You should see one of those tough bastards!” He brushed her wet hair back. “I fought a few when I was with the Dawnguard.”

“That must be quite a story.”

“Sure is. I’ll tell you soon. I’m too tired now. How was Solstheim, by the way?” He inquired cautiously.

“Rough. But I settled the scores and everything is fine. I thought I could move on, but…” She bit her tongue, she didn’t want to think about it now.

“I know you’re too stubborn to ask, so I’ll say it myself. Whatever you decide; leave or walk into this new mess, I’m with you.”

“I missed you.” She suddenly said. “And I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for treating you like a whelp and cowardly leaving you in your own. I don’t regret giving you space, but it was stupid of me to cut you off without a goodbye.”

“Wow. I wasn’t expecting to hear that.”

“Well, I’m not repeating myself.” She muttered, losing patience after her short outburst of honesty. 

“I’ll treasure this memory… What’s that?!” He raised his voice, feeling a new scar on her ribcage.

“That? I tangoed with a werewolf.” Aza confessed, though didn’t go into details about how Sinding, the werewolf, left a mark on her. “You got all my scars memorized?” She suddenly realized.

“Of course I do!” He puffed. “Who else would?”

\---

She woke up late in the morning with relaxation she hadn’t felt in a long time. It dawned upon her that she hadn’t had deep, good sleep in months. She was so deep in dreamland, that she hadn’t noticed she was alone. All his gear was gone, where…?

“I’m here!” She heard from the next room. “You got your potion next to the bed.”

No matter how many times she drank the contraceptive before, she never got used to its pungent taste. She shrugged it off, getting up. Her thighs were crusty, so was her rump. Well, after that much bodily fluids being poured into, or gushing out of her, it was no surprise. She hissed, when some still leaked out. She needed a good scrub badly.

Aza entered the main chamber with the warm cape on her shoulders and whistled seeing the damage the two of them did in the night. But that wasn’t her problem, even when Calixto was around this place was a slum. Erik somehow managed to set fire in the hearth with the pieces of broken furniture.

“I hadn’t noticed when you left.” She said, scratching her sticky pubic hairs. She needed thorough waxing.

“I didn’t want to wake you up, though the thought of tying you to the bed in case you decide to do something stupid crossed my mind.” He replied, bustling around the room. “I melted some snow for you, I can smell you from here.” He said, gesturing at a bucket with warm water and a piece of cloth. He was even courteous enough to get a small bar of soap from the alchemy shop.

The Redguard sat down on a miraculously undamaged chair and cleaned herself thoroughly. The sun seeping through the barred up windows was bright, it must have been late.

“What time is it?” She asked, running the cloth against her chest, her nipples stood up at attention.

“Around noon.” He said, warming his palms against the fire.

“When did you get up?”

“Early. I managed to have a quick wash-up, eat and do some shopping, whilst you were still asleep. You’re not as alert as you used to be.”

“I’m getting old.” She said, undoing her hair. Her stomach growled.

“You can eat what’s left of my supplies. As I recall you’re broke, eh?” He gave her a smug grin. “So… what’s the plan?” He asked, finally giving into his concerns.

“You know where their camp is, right?” Aza intensely stared at him.

“They might have moved out, but I have a clear idea in which direction.” He said after a moment of consideration. “Why, what do you want to do?”

“I want to see her.” Aza revealed, looking away, heavily exhaling. “I don’t want to meet her face to face, I’m not that selfish to turn her life upside down. But I just want to see her and make sure she’s healthy and happy. I want to know that all the shit I’ve been through wasn’t in vain and something good came out of it.”

“That’s a good plan.” He approved. “What then?”

“I’m tired of Skyirm.” She confessed. “The plan is to let me see her and make peace, then… You said you wanted to see Hammerfell. You’ll need me if you want to survive the climate.”

“Oh, I didn’t know I can’t handle a hotter day without your help.” He crinkled his nose, recognizing that patronizing tone.

“You’re a Nord. You have no idea just how hot a day on Hammerfell can be.” She rebuked without a blink. “Did… you see her? Talk to her?” She dared ask on a sudden impulse.

“She kind of looks like you. Her attitude is definitely yours.” He said faster than he could think.

“Oh, you did not just say that…!” She said in a tone that gave him the old familiar chills.

\---

“This isn’t my horse!” The Redguard screamed at the High Elf stable owner, when he presented her with a paint nag. The poor thing looked like it just didn’t care about living anymore. “I left you a perfectly fine mare, how dare you tell me this emaciated horse is mine!!”

“I’m sorry, I did all I could, but she just wouldn’t eat!” The man swore, warding himself away with his arms. “I checked on her regularly and even housed her indoors, but she was just too miserable to bother with my efforts!”

Aza broke down into a bitter cackle. Excellent, the horse she cared for so much was now on the verge of collapsing and dying. Why? Was she sick, did the idiot elf neglect his responsibilities, or did the horse just fell into misery when left completely alone? Well, this was just great.

Erik passively observed the unpleasant scene, waiting for her outburst to pass, so they can make the Altmer offer compensation. His horse was in fine condition, although it spent only one night in the stables. He was in such a hurry yesterday, that the thought of checking up on Aza’s horse hadn’t even crossed his mind. The bay mare gently nudged the bony paint one, the other barely acknowledged her company and neighed sadly. This was a heartbreaking sight.

“And you call yourself a stable master?” A third person joined into the conversation.

Erik froze, but hadn’t reached for his weapon. Aza let go of the front of the elf’s shirt, then looked over her shoulder. Kemon stood at the base of the bridge leading to Windhelm, maintaining safe distance from them.

“And you’re an expert on horses?” She asked after a longer moment, facing the man who she had a daughter with.

“They’re a part of my life.” He replied, enduring her stare. He was also visibly tense. “That poor thing can still be saved if given the right care. Though, I wouldn’t recommend riding her until she gets better.”

“That’s reasonable.” She nodded, but her gaze was still set on him. When she saw him last he had some dark hair left in his beard. Now, it was completely white. “If you want me to leave without any incident you’ll pay me in gold for your transgressions, clear?” She turned to the High Elf.

“Yes. I was going to do it without your threats, madam. I know and respect my trade.” The elf replied with dignity, then went inside to get the gold.

“Could the three of us talk?” Kemon asked, addressing the two.

“I don’t know, can we?” She asked her partner.

“We’re all adults here.” Erik said blandly, fighting the clench in his jaw.

“I had a long talk with Saabi.” The caravanier said. “She spoke highly of you. I’m grateful you got her and my sister-in-law safe.” He reached into his satchel for a purse he presented Aza with. “She regretted not being able to pay you…”

“So, you’re doing it for her and make sure I won’t butt into your lives and mess things up? No worries, I won’t.” She declined payment with a daring look.

“I am not bribing you to step away.” Kemon replied calmly. “To the contrary. I think we can strike a deal. Please, accept your gold so we can talk about my proposal.”

She had no idea what would she do if she touches him by accident when she takes the coinpurse. She had no idea would she turn violent or tearful. Thankfully, their fingers hadn’t met. The leather of the coinpurse burned, the gold inside felt heavy.

“We’re listening.” She said, thankful Erik kept quiet.

“You already know our caravan is secretive,” Kemon addressed the Nord. “We have travelled far from Hammerfell, against our will. We have enemies, who are rich and influential enough to pursue us even here. We need someone who knows this land and can be trusted. I don’t know how it came to us meeting under these circumstances. I do not dare assume I know how the fabric of life is woven. But I will not ignore it.” He turned to the woman. “I know you will do all you can to keep us safe. I know you can be trusted. What say you?”

“Sure.” Erik said carelessly before Aza could draw breath. “I’ll go see Abdal and tell him you’re on your way.”

He mounted his mare and was riding off to where the caravan camped, leaving the two former spouses alone. Aza knew he left them alone so they could talk, but she hadn’t looked forward to it.

“You’re alive.” He said with a frown, looking into her mismatched eyes. The pain on his face… It came from seeing all the scars she gained in over ten years. “I’m… glad.”

“And you’re old.” She talked back, folding her arms. “Are you going to cry?” She dared through clenched teeth.

“Are you?” Kemon asked back.

“We both mourned and moved on, haven’t we?”

“That’s what I thought up until yesterday.” The man’s shoulders hunched. “Ism…”

“That’s not my name anymore.” She cut him off. “Don’t say it. Have some mercy.” Her voice shook, she covered it with a grunt. “We’re keeping who I am a secret.” Aza conditioned. “I don’t want anyone to suffer.”

“That goes without saying. I…”

“Please!” She said sharper than she intended. “We both know we will have this talk, but not now. I’m at my limits. I just want to see her and have it over with.” She looked at Kemon. “I’m scared to see her. I have no idea what will I do.”

“She’s blooming.” He said quietly. “Just how you’d want it.”

The adventurer spun around and grabbed a patch of snow from the ground. She rubbed it forcefully into her burning face, fighting tears and a scream that crept up her throat. It took a longer moment for her to stop shaking. Kemon just stood in place, knowing that whatever he’ll do will make things worse.

“Does she get along with Saabi?” She asked after wiping the snow off her face. Her throat was tight.

“Yes.”

“Then I am happy.” She exhaled loudly. “Let’s go.” She quietly said, when the elf came with the gold.

Riding the mare would be pure cruelty, so she led her by the reins, with what little gear she had stored on her own back to relieve the animal. Kemon walked next to her, leading his graceful Hammerfell horse.

“Is he good to you?” He asked when the silence became unbearable.

“He’s my baby.” She said without thinking. “My partner,” she corrected herself. “It’s… complicated.”

“I am glad you found someone…” He dared to merely brush her shoulder, she didn’t push him away.

“What did I say? We’ll have a long, deep, excruciating talk later. Not now, there’s planning to do. And I want some answers once we get to your camp.”

They walked, with tremendous effort making idle chatter, pretending they weren’t once married, before being brutally separated. When the camp drew near they could hear the lute and a strong voice with a Nordic accent singing a ballad.

“… Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes…!”

“What the…?!” She growled angered. She hated that ballad.

“What is going on here?” Kemon asked sharply, leaving his horse with one of the guards, and gesturing her to do the same. “Abdal!” He addressed his most trusted man. “What’s going on here?”

“We caught him near our camp.” Abdal gestured at the man who performed the song. “He claimed to be a travelling bard. Well, we told him to prove it, and as you can see, he is indeed a bard.”

“That I am!” The man with the lute exclaimed. “My name is Talsgar, master of song and lute! Unlike my colleagues up in Solitude, I firmly believe song and poetry are to be shared, not stored in colleges or moldy old tomes! Especially in times like these!”

He was tanned, which was unusual for a Nord. His windswept hair was short, brightened from living outdoors. He wore colorful, comfortable traveler clothing and held his lute as if it was his own child.

“Well, then. You’ll spend some more time sharing them in Windhelm, friend.” Kemon said calmly. “Abdal, would you…?”

“Let’s not be harsh!” Saabi pushed before the group of caravaniers. “We could use some entertainment, it would do my sister good if she could listen to songs. And we would like that too!” She addressed the rest of the women, who loudly voiced their approval. “We would love to have you, master bard. And we do not take no for an answer…” She smiled kindly. “You could say, that from now on you’re a prisoner to our hospitality.”

“I am honored, madam!” Talsgar bowed, pretending not to notice the hidden threat. He then played his lute, conjuring a sigh of awe from some of the people gathered around him.

Aza snorted. Although she tried, she just couldn’t hate Saabi. She was simply too good a person to be hated. Even still, her presence didn’t give her the slightest comfort.

The crowd dispersed, people were preparing for departure. Saabi approached the heroine.

“I’m glad we caught you.” She said warmly. “Did you take care of that thing you had in Windhelm?”

“I think I have.” She replied hesitantly, finding a red mane at the back of the camp. Erik was busy taking some of the burdens from Aza’s horse onto his mare.

“That’s good to hear. Have you filled them in?” She addressed Kemon, who dared not speak with the two of them present.

“All they needed to know.” He answered truthfully, unsure of where to look.

“Splendid.” She turned to the heroine again. “I must say, me meeting you and my husband meeting your partner is quite the coincidence.” She laughed like a young girl, even though she was much older from Aza.

“Yeah… Someone could say it was fate.” She agreed, uneasy.

“Maa!” A girl approached and jealously grabbed Saabi by the shoulder. “Is it true we’re taking a bard with us?”

She was perfect. Blooming, just like Kemon said. Healthy and ripe, she would be a great beauty one day. Her eyes were the most intense shade of blue. She was slender and graceful. Just like her birthmother dreamed her to be.

“Oh, just where I thought I got rid of you!” Saabi joked. “This is my daughter, Zeba.” She introduced her to the adventurer.

Aza couldn’t utter a word, the world around slowed down and blurred. There was just the face she saw before her. She wasn’t three anymore. She was over fourteen and had her whole life ahead of her. Aza’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. But that didn’t bring her closure. 

Instinctively, she felt like grabbing her and smelling the top of her head, where years ago she smelled so wonderfully, like only a baby could. All the things she did for this young lady hit her like a warhammer in the face. She birthed, nursed and provided for her. She gave up everything to make sure she was safe… And now she wasn’t hers anymore.

“Madame Aza will be escorting us with our Nord friend.” Kemon said, feeling how tense the atmosphere got.

“That oaf?” The girl snarled, breaking the lock that fixed her eyes with the adventurer’s. During that brief moment she felt… uneasy around that towering woman. Not because of her appearance, there was something strange in that mercenary’s stare. 

“Zeba!” Saabi scolded. “I’m sorry, she still hadn’t learned to think before she speaks.”

“It’s alright.” Aza managed to say. “We have some planning to do, yes?” She looked at Kemon imploringly. _’Help!’_ Her eyes said. 

“We’ll be going now. Thank you again.” The older woman excused herself and her daughter.

“Coffee?” He suggested, gently putting his shoulder over her waist and leading to where the women were busy with packing up the field kitchen.

“Rum!” She could only shutter.


	10. Going South

“They’re harlots, you know.” Aza commented, approaching her partner.

“What?” Erik looked over his shoulder, still busy with packing her stuff onto his horse.

“The women. They’re harlots.” She said, sipping her coffee. She hadn’t had any in so many years, she almost forgot she used to have stomach aches afterwards. It was more about the memories the bitter taste brought, than the actual coffee itself.

“Don’t be judgmental.” He snorted.

“Erik, they’re really harlots. I know Redguard prostitutes when I see them. And those are not caravan members. They’re fine whores.”

“Wha… Why are they here, then?” He grew incredulous.

“We’ll soon find out. Thanks” she suddenly changed topics. “Thanks for making the decision for me.”

“Always. How are you handling it?”

“Better than I would expect.” She realized. “Now that I saw her I can stop imagining how good or bad things would turn out for her. It’s done. There’s nothing more I can do.”

“You’re at peace?”

“I should. But I’m not.”

“Well, I’ll keep you company at night and we’ll try to work something out.” He winked, brushing her side. She snorted, finishing her brew.

“We’re planning our route.” Abdal announced approaching them. “You have experience, big sister?” He asked, eying the heroine with purely businesslike interest.

“More than you can imagine.” She replied briefly.

“Good. Come, we need to discuss a few things. And this,” he handled Erik a large rolled piece of canvas, “is your tent. Now that you’re staying for longer Kemon figured you could use one. Large enough for two.”

“Great.” He accepted the gift. Up to now he slept in his bedroll close to the bonfire. It will be nice to have some privacy together.

They headed to where Kemon and Saabi were bending over a large map of Skyrim stretched on a tree stump. The sheet was clean, with no notes or scribbles.

“We’re heading south. Our current goal is passing Eastmarch and getting to the Rift.” The head of the caravan revealed, tracing the border between the holds with his finger. “Since you two know the land I want your honest opinion. What’s the safest route?”

The two adventurers whipped out their maps, both littered with notes known only to their respectful owners. They stood side by side, every now and then peeking on the other’s map and comparing with their own.

“I wouldn’t recommend following the road.” Erik warned, consulting his map. “Since you want to keep out of sight, I’d follow the Black River.”

“The part of Eastmarch we’ll be travelling through is mostly hot springs. Lots of open terrain, and we’ll be in plain sight if we wander away from the river, but the climate is pleasant and we’ll always have a steady source of water.” Aza added.

“Here”, Erik tapped a spot on the large, clean map, “is Darkwater Crossing. It’s a small village of fishermen and miners. I know a man there who knows the land like the back of his hand.”

“No.” Kemon cut the conversation short.

“Habibi…” Saabi gently, but firmly cut in. “Let the man continue.” She encouraged the Nord with a smile.

“Derkeetus is his name, he’s an Argonian scout. He can help us and I can guarantee he’s trustworthy.” He promised.

“What makes you so sure?” The Redguard man questioned.

“I pulled him out of a Falmer hive.” The hero boasted. That was a story!

Aza whistled impressed. Nice. Risky, but nice. Some part of her wanted to say how stupid it was of him to go alone, but she curbed that little overprotective voice. He knew what he was doing.

“What are these Falmer you speak of?” Abdal inquired, rubbing his chin, curious of the dangers lurking in Skyrim’s darkest corners.

“They used to be elves. But centuries of living underground turned them into evil, twisted creatures.” Erik shook his head in disgust. “And the stench!”

“Agreed.” Aza waved her hand as if warding herself from a nasty odor. “Whoever would pull me out of one of their hives would be my true friend for life.”

“We shall see once we get there.” The head of the caravan dismissed. “For now we should move out, we wasted enough time camping here.”

The caravan was good to go. With Kemon on his horse in the front and Abdal securing the back, they proceeded south, towards the Aalto. The pair of adventurers were close to the head of the caravan, but out of earshot. Since the paint mare was too weak to be ridden, the heroine walked at her side. Erik did the same, so that they could converse freely after being apart for so long.

“Please don’t tell me that’s a hyena.” Aza moaned embarrassed, spotting the animal prancing around the wagon with Saabi, Kazi and the girl that was once hers onboard.

“It is.” He crushed her hopes. “Why would you name yourself after such an ugly thing? Because you weren’t born under the name you now use, right?”

“It wasn’t me.” She refuted annoyed. “The boys named me like that. It stuck later, since I saw no reason to use my old name.”

“The boys?”

“Yeah. The ones from the weapon caravan that found me half-dead in the desert. I whored myself to them in exchange for food and shelter, remember?” She reminded carefree, as if that wasn’t part of a traumatizing memory. “I was beaten and almost dead, but I could still bite and laugh.” Her tone suddenly lowered. “I guess I’ll have to tell him’ right?” She sighed, staring at the back of Kemon’s head, several meters ahead of them. “He’ll want to know everything in full detail, even though he knows damned well what happened after we got separated.”

“I… Shit.” Erik shook his head, unable to say anything smart. “Want to hear about my time with the Dawnguard?” He changed topics, hoping to catch her interest. They both knew this trip will be painful, and not just physically. No need to spoil their moods now, when they were back together.

“Sure! I’m dying to hear about your careless exploits!” She teased, bumping her hip against his.

Though they had to stay alert, he talked for hours, unraveling an unbelievable tale about vampires, ancient prophecies, the Soul Cairn and immensely powerful artifacts. Aza listened in, gasping, laughing or uttering ‘bullshit!’ at the appropriate moments. The story was unbelievable and crazy. But then again, so was what she went through on Solstheim. Not to mention, that after travelling to Sovngarde to kill a dragon which could end the world, one tends to believe a lot more than they would normally do. 

“And all that time, you hadn’t contracted the vampire curse?” She asked in disbelief. 

“No!” He protested offended. “I didn’t want to become a bloodsucker, and I was always cautious and had cure disease potions with me. I’m not as reckless as I used to be, you know?” He pouted dramatically, looking her in the eyes.

“And the vampiress? Did she lure you into her arms with her vampire charm?” Aza made a grimace.

“Jealous?” He inquired with a cocky look.

“Over an ancient corpse which only thinks of you as sustenance? Please.” She replied with dignity. “She’d bite your cock off.”

“Probably. Still, she was nice to look at.” Erik remembered Serana’s noble brow and lips.

“Halt!” There was a sharp command from the head of the caravan.

One of Kemon’s scouts came running to them, he was visibly alarmed.

“Kemon wishes to see you two.” He said urgently, reaching to relieve them of their horse’s reins. “Go see him.”

The two made haste to the front of the caravan where Kemon was questioning the second of his scouts, sent ahead to scour the area.

“Giant.” He sad gravely, as if he spoke of a calamity. “Straight ahead, impossible to pass.” He added. “I was hoping you could offer advice.” He addressed the Nord. 

“Giant’s are not uncommon in these parts.” Erik rubbed his chin, ignoring the spite in the man’s voice. Or maybe he was imagining it? “Generally, we let them go about their business and wait for them to leave.”

“That one is no strangler. It has a camp just ahead, blocking the road. It’s not going anywhere.” The scout revealed.

“Then we kill it!” The head of the caravan decided with force. “You two can assist my men…”

“Bad idea.” Aza protested quickly. Were it Erik to oppose Kemon, a struggle for dominance would erupt. Men and their need to be on top. “Giants are best either avoided or… pacified in some other way. You go there with armed men and I can guarantee there will be casualties.”

“And what do you propose we do?” He asked, narrowing this thick eyebrows. His steel eyes pierced the woman. Back on Hammerfell, when they were together… He never had that hardiness. He changed. Just as she.

“Does anyone know their herbs around here?” She asked, already planning what to do. 

“Saabi does.” Kemon pointed out.

“I’ll go talk to her. You two try not to whip your dicks out and try to impress the other, okay?”

She left them dumbfounded. The scout snickered, but ceased the moment Kemon’s eyes turned to him.

\---

“Yes, just let me get my ingredients!” Saabi immediately leapt off the wagon and lead Aza further to the back of the line of wagons, where her supplies were stashed. “I just hope there’s enough to work on a giant!”

Quickly, she got a few bottles and sacks with dry herbs from her supplies. When she was all stocked up on ingredients, they made their way to their men. 

“I am not taking chances!” They heard Kemon’s voice raised in anger.

“It’s pointless cruelty, not precautions!” Erik snapped back.

“I just knew they’re going to be at each other’s throats the moment they’re alone.” The heroine grunted annoyed.

“Yes… My husband is a good man, but strict and adamant when it comes to our safety.” Saabi admitted. “He’s just so consumed with protecting us, he can sometimes seem… cold.”

The younger woman bit her tongue. She remembered a different Kemon. Less of an asshole. But did she have any right to judge him? She wasn’t always this cynical and depraved.

“Is everything alright?” The older woman entered the scene where the men were on the brink of getting physical.

“No.” They said unison, shooting glares at each other.

“What’s going on?” Aza sighed, but left Saabi to do the talking since she was the alpha female.

“Our friend here thinks that the well-being of one giant is more important than our safety and destination.”

“I don’t see any point in leaving a blood trail behind.” Erik counterattacked.

Saabi was as sharp as she was patient. Instead of backing up any of the two men she addressed Aza.

“Have you ever encountered a giant in your travels?” She asked casually, refusing to give in to the tension.

“A few times. Peaceful things, unless you threaten their mammoths. They’re not that hard to outmaneuver.” She replied in a similar calm manner.

“Then I propose a compromise.” Saabi now faced Erik. “Since you two are adventurers and are not strangers to giants, I can only assume you know what you are doing. I’m sure the two of you can pacify it and grant us safe passage. Right, husband?”

“I am willing to let them try.” Her man grunted displeased, but made no attempts to force his way.

“Wonderful! Now, let me just prepare my herbs and you two can be off…”

She skillfully whipped out a mixture of herbs and exotic ingredients, an amount she estimated should be enough to put a giant to sleep. In the meantime Erik went to get his crossbow.

“What? Just in case.” He assured, seeing Aza’s brows cross. “You coming or what?”

They walked past the point where the path suddenly took a turn, and entered a gorge just at the side of the river. It was a perfect place for a giant camp, shielding from the wind, sun and any unwanted attention.

The denizen was sitting before a large bonfire, where a robust cow was roasting. The smell of tender meat and smoke hit their nostrils as they drew closer. The giant was turned back to them, busy with some handiwork, perhaps preparing itself food. Just behind him was a large basin with a milky brew, in case the giant’s throat needed wetting.

“You keep that crossbow ready. I’ll sneak up on him and get the mixture into his drink. Then we wait.” Aza whispered, already getting ahead.

Erik crouched and readied his weapon. There was no chance he’ll miss the giant if it somehow notices her and attacks. He observed in tension as his partner got within arm’s reach of the creature.

The Redguard loosened the pouch and quickly poured Saabi’s mixture into the mammoth milk. The intense smell dulled the scent of the drug. She was about to retreat to a safe distance and wait for the denizen to get thirsty, but that was when she noticed just what the giant was so preoccupied with.

Jerking-off. The thing worked its massive cock with tenderness and zeal only a respective owner could. Forget Malacath, that thing was as thick as her thigh and as long as her whole arm!

“Well, I’ll be damned…” She shuttered, forgetting all about caution.

With surprising speed, the creature sprang up from the trunk it used as a bench and reached for its massive club, ready to protect its turf. It grunted as a warning, focusing on the small human that somehow managed to sneak behind it.

“Whoa there big guy!” She called out, raising her palms. “No need to get feisty! Everyone needs some alone time… Actually, I can help you with that!” She grinned like an idiot.

Somehow, he must have understood human speech, or more so the familiar jerking gesture she made. The club lowered, the giant’s insipid eyes stared at her with confusion. It was time to act fast.

“It’s okay! Everything is okay!” Aza called out casually, wanting to calm down Erik more than the giant. “Come here, darling…” She purred, patting the trunk. “Just you relax and let me give you a helping hand…”

The giant sheepishly sat back and stared at the undressing female. Erik grinded his teeth, dangerously fondling the trigger. Was she really about to…? She was.

Aza threw off the last piece of her armor. She groped the whole shaft, grinding against it and sliding up and down along with the thick foreskin. The smell was intense, but not as unpleasant as some men she’s been with. Actually, the giant smelled faintly of musk. The skin was velvet soft, warm with the veins clearly visible and throbbing.

“You must be so lonely out here, with no one to show you a good time…” She sighed, feeling the tip getting slippery from the precome. 

She slid all the wrinkled skin down and stuck her tongue into the urethra, wiggling with zeal. The giant relaxed, complacent as anyone getting a good stroking of their dick. Aza couldn’t quite believe she was doing this, but considering she slept with a werewolf, jerking-off a giant was nothing new in her long and complicated sex life.

She squatted and grinded her crotch against the pleasantly velvet shaft, motioning up and down, leaving a trace of her own sticky juices. She giggled, realizing she was getting off herself. Oh, the depths of her own depravity… Right, Erik was watching. Well, she hoped he’d be mature enough to stand back and let her solve this peacefully. What little dignity she had in exchange for safe passage and the giant’s life was a small price to pay.

The veins thickened and pulsed in short intervals, the titanic cock swelled with more blood, ready to explode any minute. She realized it’s going to be much more than a mouthful. A whole wave of giant cum. That white, thick, sticky shower… she wanted it. And had to act fast, if she’s going to get his load; the creature was inches away from climaxing.

“Oh, come here!” She pleaded with strain, grabbing his big hand and pulling to kneel on the ground. She lied on her back, with the glans just between her thighs, stroking it with her hands, whilst her feet worked the base. “Come all over me!” She groaned, her mind giving in to the lewd idea of tasting his load.

The tide that came a second later was overwhelming. The creature groaned, releasing the biggest load of semen she had ever received. She wasn’t stained with it; she was entirely coated with it. The force of the ejaculation shot some straight into her mouth. Aza gagged and snorted, whilst more and more covered her in sticky, warm layers.

“Whoa…” She managed to breathe when the heavy rod rested on her, completely exhausted and slowly shrinking. “I… no one’s going to believe this, even in a thousand years.” She shuttered, getting up and almost slipping on the sperm. Good thing she took off her armor.

The giant sat back and relished in the afterglow. When the last bits of pleasant glee faded, he grunted something in his primitive language, pointing at a leather sack a few steps away from the fire. Apparently he wanted the human to take interest in it.

“Wow… this is… you want me to take it?” Aza asked, after taking a look inside.

The sack contained fine, creamy mammoth cheese. She heard that giants produced this mysterious food, but never saw any with her own eyes. A small bowl on the market was as expensive as regular cheese of the same quantity served in a golden bowl!

The giant nodded, squeezing out the last troublesome squirts of come that got under his foreskin.

“How much can I take?” She asked, weighting the heavy sack. “All of it?” She nearly squealed when the giant made a circling gesture, covering the entire sack. “Oh!” She tiptoed to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You are just too sweet… You definitely earned yourself a stiff drink!” She suggested with a wink, reaching for the basin behind him and offering with a wide smile.

He took the basin and swallowed the entire milky liquid with a gulp. He burped and gave her a pleased, mindless look. Aza feared the strength of the drug wasn’t enough to put him to sleep, but after another minute or so the giant yawned and bent back on the trunk, falling off straight on its back. The ground shook from the impact, then his loud snoring.

“Phew!” She exhaled, relieved how smoothly everything went.

“Did you just… give a damned giant a handjob!” Erik appeared right next to her, his cheeks red from bottled-up anger.

“Haven’t you seen the size of that cock? It wasn’t a handjob! It was… a full bodyjob!” She refuted insulted.

“I… just. You still leave me speechless. And appalled.” He shook his head, seeing her soaked and gooey. And that smell!

“Look who learned new words. Oh, stop it. A sliver of my dignity is a small price for safe passage and the creature’s life, don’t you think? In the end I just added one more dirty experience to my biography, but no one got hurt.” She huffed. “And I earned us some nice grub!” She greedily eyed the sack with the finest quality mammoth cheese. Her mouth watered when she imagined slapping a thick layer of it on a freshly toasted piece of bread. With some good ale or mead to wash it all down.

“Congratulations. You whored yourself for food.” He said, grinding his teeth, forcing himself to avoid looking at the enormous dick now slumbering on the hairy, massive thighs of the giant.

“The bonus was unexpected. But not unwelcome. If you don’t want it, you won’t get any of my cheese, suit yourself.” She ignored the insult, brushing off the cum. “I need a quick wash. Be back in a minute. Could you take that sack with you?”

“I’m not your slave.” Erik muttered.

“Oh, come on! I’ll make this up to you!” She promised playfully. “Now come on, give me a hug!” She teased, opening her arms.

Erik jolted away with a disgusted choke. Aza snorted and laughed before rushing into the river.

“Divines…” Erik whispered, watching her dive into the brisk waters. “I hate how forgiving you make me.”

\---

“Well?” Kemon asked impatiently.

“All clear. The giant is sleeping like a log.” Aza assured, Erik looked away when she talked. She was still dripping water, but there were no traces of jizz on her. 

“And… that?” The man pointed at the sack Erik carried.

“Bonus. No worries, the giant won’t notice. I… slipped and fell into the creature’s larder. I had to clean myself up, which is why it took us so long.” She lied without a blink, knowing Kemon wouldn’t believe her but won’t ask any questions for as long as the deed was done.

“Thank goodness.” Saabi said with relief. “I knew you two can be trusted.”

“Yes, let’s get a move on, before it wakes up.” Kemon said with a scowl.

\---

“Hey…” Aza nudged Erik’s side when they were with their horses, and he was tying the sack with the cheese to his mare’s saddle. “I think we should share some.” She suggested. “Before we eat it all it will probably go bad.”

“I’m sure Kemon will appreciate it.” He said with a sour expression. Nonetheless, he whipped out a smaller sack from his pack and carefully poured about half of the contents into it.

“I’m thinking about Kazi. She needs all the nutrition she can get.”

“The one with the baby? Sure, no arguments from me.” He agreed energetically.

He was raised to treat women with child with the utmost respect. After all, they were creating new life! That was a beautiful… and fascinating thing. Not to mention he felt like an ass, remembering how he scared Kazi in Windhelm docks.

“Such a gentleman. Take it to them, would you?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He hesitated, remembering Zeba was also on the carriage the women took.

“Just go there and give it to her.” Aza shook her head. “Or are you afraid you’ll look like a softie?”

He didn’t argue, lest he’ll have to explain why he didn’t want to talk to Kazi, with Zeba as an additional inconvenience. He took the sack and trotted to their carriage.

“Ahem.” He coughed loudly to announce his presence.

“I… yes?” Kazi asked, noticing him.

“Here.” He tossed the sack over the side of the carriage, next to her lap. “You should have this. It’s mammoth cheese, good for you.” He said quickly, trying not to sound abrupt or intimidating. “Got to go.” He excused himself, trying to ignore Kazi’s surprise and Zeba’s interest.

“Well, that was nice.” Saabi concluded, groping the pleasantly filled sack.

“It was.” Kazi agreed. “I hadn’t expected that.”

Zeba pouted, but said nothing.

\---

They camped on a larger space of solid ground, close to the steaming springs. The camp was busy, the Bosmer cook yelled at everyone who got too close to his bonfire, saying that food will be done when it is done. 

“You’re awfully broody, habibi.” Saabi pointed out, offering her husband coffee.

“I have a lot on my mind.” He replied, trying to change the topic. The reasons why he was this strained should not be known to Saabi. She needn’t know, lest she suffers like him over things that should be long mourned and gone.

At another bonfire, the one dedicated to the women, the chatty harlots gathered around the bard, pleading and coquetting him to sing. Talsgar was tuning his lute, exercising his voice for a night of song and dance. He didn’t make them plead for too long.

“Oh, there was once a man named Ragnar the Red who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead…!” He began one of the popular tavern songs.

“I like that one.” Aza said, watching him through half-shut eyelids at the small campfire she and Erik made for themselves. “Perfect for a nice evening with good food.” She added, before stuffing her mouth with cheese. Just like she planned, she had it spread over a crunchy piece of toast, with addition of some dried herbs. Too bad there was no fresh salmon roe… 

“There are worse songs, I guess.” Erik replied, warming his palms against the fire. “It makes me homesick.” His voice dropped an octave. 

She needn’t ask – he couldn’t visit home for another eight years, not until the bounty over his head expires. Eight years was a lot of time, especially for someone like Mralki, who had little precious years left.

“Are you sure you’re okay with being led in the dark like this?” He suddenly asked, glancing at the central bonfire, where Kemon and his family were dining and chatting. “They are running from something… or someone. Just who or what is so big and dangerous to have a whole caravan forced to travel through strange land?”

“No idea. But, come on! We both know the trade, whatever it is we’ll learn soon enough…” She foretold with an uneasy snicker.

“… Usually under some dire circumstances.” He added. “I’m taking the first watch, I’ll wake you up when it’s your turn.”

“Just don’t overdo it. You need rest yourself.” She conditioned with a yawn. “I don’t want you falling asleep when I finally get my hands on you alone.” She promised, trying to leer like she used to in the good old days when he was still her whelp. But all she could conjure was a warm smile. Too late, she couldn’t lust for him without getting that fuzzy feeling inside.

“I’ll hold on to your word.” He took the gauntlet with a wink.

Erik washed down his supper with mulled ale, then walked past the warm circles of light, into the nippy dark. His job was to keep watch to the east, over the vast plains of hot springs and barren hills. At least he didn’t have to watch the skies, expecting an ominous roar coming from above any minute.

He heard the usual sounds of a busy camp behind him; songs, shouting and laughing, accompanied by the sound of burning wood and nickering horses. He also heard confident, quick steps closing in on his spot.

“I’m guessing… Kemon.” He chatted, seeing the Redguard’s shadow painting itself on a nearby rock.

“There are old wise women back on Hammerfell who make a living out of soothsaying.” He mocked. “You could learn from them.”

“And there I was thinking you and me had a bond forming. Pity.” The Nord snorted, bracing for an unpleasant conversation. Hopefully, conversation only. “Join me for this fine evening?”

Kemon sat at Erik’s side, saying nothing. A mammoth could be seen far in the distance, possibly a loner too old to be a part of the herd anymore. The two watched the gigantic animal roam across the volcanic landscape.

“It’s big.” The elder man whistled. “We have similar animals in our homeland, but they don’t have hair. We call them elephants.”

“Small world.” Erik said.

“Small indeed…” Kemon agreed. “I am not a man who would hold on to their past.” He suddenly revealed. “What matters to me the most is the present.”

“Same here. But let’s get to the point. I’m just a simple adventurer, no need to get all ironic and sophisticated when talking to me. You think there will be complication along the way. And there will be.”

“I understand you want to warn me?” Kemon guessed.

“Warn? I’m not a thug.” Erik protested calmly. “She’s had enough. Not just physically. Don’t add to her suffering.”

“I was there.” The Redguard said through clenched teeth, peering into the Nord’s profile, still staring into the distance. “You have no idea what I went through. What my daughter went through.”

“No one else deeds to be dragged into this. Just the three of us.” Erik went on.

“Two.” Kemon corrected with force.

“Three.” Erik had no intention of backing off.

“Very well, then.” The older man said after a moment of consideration. “I do not have anything personal against you… But I have too many lives at stake, my friend. I won’t risk lowering my guard.”

“That’s understandable.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

“I don’t agree. I understand.”

“I took your advice under consideration. We will pass through Darkwater Crossing, I hope your Argonian is trustworthy.” The caravanner said as a goodbye, retreating to his position at the center of camp.

Hours passed, the mammoth was now a distant memory, the plains were still and peaceful, save for the sizzling cracks of hot water. The adventurer was alone. Or so he thought. Somehow Erik’s gut told him to stay vigilant. 

The spot was over the edge of a rise, sticking out no more than a few feet over the rest of the area. Erik could see clearly the plains – he could also be seen perfectly. He rested the crossbow on his laps, his feet dangling over the edge. His pupils dilated, his hearing attuned to the night. He was certain now that he wasn’t alone.

Rustling came from below. Faint, barely audible, but somehow he could pick it up. It resembled something (someone?) crawling on its belly, right to his position. He didn’t want to raise alarm, deciding to patiently wait for the creature (or person) to reveal itself… or strike.

It was getting closer, the sound was now recognizable. And it was now moving quicker. He saw it; a faint silhouette on the porous ground. It was larger than a skeever, but smaller than a wolf or sabre cat. The creature halted, fully aware it was spotted. It’s head rose to look straight at him. The eyes glowed with cold light, peering into his face.

“Come on, don’t be shy…” He encouraged, picking up his weapon ready to shoot whatever it was between the eyes.

“Was I ever?” Aza asked jokingly, surprising him from behind.

“What?” He glanced over his shoulder, then back where the intruder was. 

It was gone. That brief moment of deconcentration cost him a perfect shot. He hadn’t heard the slightest move, trying to track it now was pointless.

“Something of concern?” She asked, leaning forward, resting her hands on his shoulders. She wasn’t subtle, her rack rested on his head. Just how he liked it.

“Something was creeping up around here. You scared it off.”

“Critters? Or…” She paused, wondering if maybe Kemon’s paranoia wasn’t entirely unwarranted. 

“No idea. You worry there might be scouts? Sent by whoever is… stalking our caravan? We’re not exactly hidden, my bet is animals.” He mused, letting his favorite pair of tits massage his head. “I’ll check any tracks in the morning, there’s no point while it’s dark.”

“Good idea. For the moment I came to relieve you. Hit the sack.”

He stared into the distance one final time, then gave her a quick smooch before marching to their tent. The bedroll smelled pleasantly, he slipped into her scent and peaceful sleep.

\----

Kemon intended to head out first thing in the morning, but plans have changed.

“The scouts reported nothing.” Saabi calmed him down. “We can afford staying here a few more hours.

“Time is crucial, my light.”

“So is morale. The hot springs intrigue the girls, they could use some grooming and leisure, after being cooped up in the cold for so long.”

The head of the group gave in. As usual, Saabi could patiently talk him into doing what she thought was best.

“You are right. Let them… do whatever it is they do to make themselves pretty. But we head out at noon, if they’re not ready by then they’ll have to chase us.” He conditioned.

Collective cheering flew across the camp when the women were told they could enjoy a hot bath and some relaxation. 

“Come, big sister!” One of the conspicuous harlots grabbed Aza by the wrist when the heroine was returning from her watch.

“What, something’s wrong honey?” She asked, trying to crack up a confident grin, but she was too sleepy and hungry.

“We can bathe in the hot springs! You should join us.” The woman smiled.

“Wish I could, but…” Aza caught Kemon passing by. He turned his head to her and nodded, then turned away as if nothing happened. “Sure, lead the way.”

“Good! You can tell us stories! And we are already preparing sugar scrub. You could use it.” She teased, tugging the dark hairs sticking from under her arm.

Aza grunted, slapping the harlot’s behind. The woman spun around with grace and bolted to where the rest were gathering. Temple harlots, no doubt. Or runaways from a noble’s harem. Either way they were too good looking and too playful to come from a lowly brothel or the streets.

She followed the excited screams to the secluded part of the camp, shielded from curious eyes by shrubbery and rocks. 

Meanwhile, Erik got up and crawled out of the tent. It was early in the morning, but long past dawn. He was surprised that no one woke him up and ushered to get moving, but it seemed they were going to dally for a bit longer.

“We have some time to rest” Abdal called out, noticing him trotting in place with no apparent intent. “Eat, relax. But Kemon wants to see you in an hour.” He reported, heading to the horses.

The hero nodded and headed towards the part of the camp where the cook was residing. The smell of heavily spiced leftover stew made his stomach grumble. Without any comment the Bosmer routinely handed him out a bowl with hot stew, a spoon and flatbread. Erik thanked with a nod, sitting on the log next to Talsgar, who was sleeping off a night of performance… and drink.

“Ah… Kindly share some of that delicacy with me?” The bard suggested, then the smell hit his nostrils.

“Get your own.” Erik replied bluntly.

“You mercenary types.” The bard rolled his eyes with disapproval. “Always so serious.”

The master of lute and song left to get himself some breakfast, Erik was alone, but just for a moment. Kazi waddled over to him, nervously massaging her swollen abdomen. She suddenly burped loudly, then covered her mouth embarrassed. Looking around if anyone saw or heard, she found the redhead.

“I’m sorry! This happens every now and then.” She apologized, staring down at her belly. “I’m so terribly bloated. It must have been that mammoth cheese… There was nothing wrong with it! But it was so good, I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s normal.” He assured, wolfing down his meal. “Want to sit?” He inquired, realizing he was acting like a savage.

“Thank you.” Kazi seated herself on the log, whilst the Nord made himself comfortable on the bare ground.

He was pale, so very pale. But the most intriguing thing about him was his hair; copper red, with a golden hue when you looked at it under the light. He wore it braided, pulled back loosely. Kazi admired whilst he was completely focused on eating, unaware he could even be of any interest to her.

“Shouldn’t you be bathing with the rest?” He made nonchalant conversation.

“No, in my state it’s not recommended to take hot baths.” She explained, protectively embracing her belly.

“I’m sorry, that was a stupid question.” He shook his head, embarrassed by his own insensitivity. “So…” He tried to make small talk, but had no idea what to say without sounding like a crude simpleton.

“Is there any story behind that scar?” Kazi dared ask, focusing her brown eyes on the side of his face.

“Just as much as with any other scar. It’s not like I got it on a dare or for fun.” He said faster than he could think. “Sorry… I sound like an ass. But that’s not a story you’d want to hear.” He explained apologetically. “Really, it’s nothing heroic if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I see. Forgive my intrusion.” 

“People ask about it all the time. I got used to it.” He managed to sound carefree. “Are you hoping for a boy or girl?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. The truth is I want my baby to be healthy, I try not to think what it will be until I see for myself. Would you like to feel it?” She offered.

“Sure!”

He took off his glove and let her put his hand on her tummy. It felt strangely pleasant, though clothed. Unfortunately, he couldn’t feel the baby kicking.

“I think it’s too early for it to get in the mood.” Kazi excused her child’s lack of performance. “Maybe some other time.”

He smiled and nodded, noticing she hadn’t mentioned the father before. He was smart enough not to ask.

\---

“OW!” Aza roared, when the last piece of sugar scrub was removed along with her hair.

“Please stop fidgeting.” The head harlot reprimanded, whilst another girl was holding on to her leg, giggling like a brat. “For a woman with so much scars you sure are overreacting.”

“Darling, you do not want me to tell you their stories. You’d piss yourself in your sleep for a week at least.” The heroine dared, fighting tears in the corners of her eyes.

“I’m sure. We’re done here, you are smooth and pretty for your boy.” She teased, signaling her assistant to let go.

Aza stared down at her crotch, almost forgetting how her private bits looked without hair. She kept a thin strip, more as a decoration than necessity. Perfect, she’ll have to show it to Erik anytime soon… She quickly counted the days, realizing she’ll need to hurry up, before she becomes… unavailable.

Meanwhile, Saabi was busy with disciplining her daughter’s hair. Aza tried to look any other way, at the landscape or any of the tempting harlots, but her focus was pulled towards the two of them. Saabi was middle-aged but looked amazingly youthful. Now did the heroine notice that Saabi had an old, faded tattoo on her shoulder. She vaguely recalled that symbol resembled wise women. Shamans. But wasn’t she a city Redguard?

“Stop iiiit!” Zeba cried, when Saabi pulled her hair exceptionally hard.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t neglecting your hair that much! It’s not hard to brush it yourself.” Her mother refuted, working the knots with a solid ivory brush. “See? I combed out a twig! Twig! What was it doing in your hair, hmm?”

Aza dunked in the hot water. Right, she almost forgot this trip was going to be an emotional torture.

Zeba tried to cry a bit, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. She grunted, giving up and letting Saabi do as she pleased with the cursed brush.

The big, scary woman bobbed up, splashing water around like a hippo. The girl shrugged, studying her profile. She was safe, as she was on her blind side; the white opaque eye couldn’t see her staring. Tall Papa, she was marked with scars all over. Suddenly, the thought of living a life of adventure lost its appeal to the girl. She wasn’t sure of it anymore if she ends up looking like that. And it weren’t just the scars, that merc had an arm as thick as a man’s!

“Don’t stare.” Saabi patiently reprimanded. “It’s rude.”

“She can’t see me.” The teen talked back.

“That’s no excuse. Be respectful.”

Saabi caught a glimpse of Aza just as the warriorress turned over to avoid a splash of water caused by one of the excited women. Her gaze slipped from the neck, chest and down the abdomen to the old vertical scar between the navel and groin.

A c-section scar.

Ignoring her own advice and staring at the irregular cut, she remembered a brief exchange of words they had on the ship heading form Solstheim to Skyrim.

_“Do you have children?” She asked curiously._

_“Had.” The adventurer replied bitterly._

_“I’m sorry.” Saabi quickly backed away._

_“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I almost forgot it myself.”_

\---

“I’m going to ask you to accompany me for the rest of the trip.” Kemon debriefed when Erik joined him. “On horseback.” He added, putting his map away and rubbing his eyes with irritation. He looked like a man who had little sleep.

“No problem.” The Nord agreed.

“Good. Since you assure me you know the settlement we’ll be passing by… Darkwater Crossing, was it? I think it’s a good idea for you to speak on our behalf in order to avoid any… incident. There’s no need to be brash.”

The younger bit his tongue, forcing himself to refrain from commenting on Kemon’s brashness. He wasn’t alone, it wasn’t worth it.

Abdal signaled everyone to gather around and pack up, it was time to move on.


End file.
